Healing Trauma: What it Really Takes to Liberate your Brilliance

I recently discovered an amazing blog entry while perusing The Integral Approach to Psychotherapy regarding the importance of resolving trauma within our histories, within our hearts, souls, minds and lives.  The damage that can be done by ignoring or continually banishing our "unwanted" emotions from the pain of our past, is greater than that which can be overcome by scraping the surface or ridding ourselves from the memories, or even from the effects of the scars.  The more we try to escape, the deeper we become entrenched within and shackled onto our pain; and the more difficult it will be to overcome.  Yet for those who are committed, there is another side to your story- and a light within that can shine so brilliantly beyond anything you ever thought possible. Patience is key, but courage and faith, and hope for something better will light a fire that you can follow with the help of a trusted other. Whether that other is a psychotherapist, a guide, a spiritual coach, or other figure in your life that you trust with your "unwanted" parts/emotions. See an excerpt below, and please visit this webpage and see the brilliance for yourself.

The most exciting part of the human experience is the creative potential that awaits in the center of our wounds waiting to be accessed and embodied. 

If we choose to stay unconscious and unaware of our wounds and how they affect our present lives, we remain handicapped by the fog of projection and the cognitive distortions of our early experiences. However, If we choose to lean into our pain for the sake of transformation and address our wounds directly, we have the potential to live lives beyond what you can currently imagine where joy, love and peace are the primary reality we experience. 

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” ― C.G. Jung

Healing Trauma: What it Really Takes to Liberate your Brilliance as seen on Womb of Light, thanks to writer and inspirational speaker Bethany Webster. (PLEASE NOTE: Image seen here is the logo from Womb of Light, all rights reserved to Womb of Light and Bethany Webster.)

http://womboflight.com

Phoenix Road Books for Social Work, Psychology, self help, and entertainment books, DVD's, music and more!

For those of you that don't know, I wanted to bring my business to your attention.  Phoenix Road Books has been in existence for about the same time as this website itself. The store was developed to support this website and keep it running; with books containing themes similar to those introduced in the work and containing material to inspire and expand on ideas introduced on this page. Most of the books in my inventory are catered to those interested in recovery from trauma, mental health studies, and personal self-help books. However, the store also carries general entertainment DVD's and books, and those for other interests. I'd love it if you would take a look and as with anything published on this website, I am very open to suggestions, submissions and requests.  Please let me know if you need any help navigating the store, purchasing items or if you would like to request that a particular item be ordered. I have access to quite a bit of updated Social Work literature and other resources that may be very helpful to you and I would be more than happy to seek out particular titles if you so desire.

http://www.amazon.com/shops/phoenix_road_books

Thinking of you and looking forward to reading creative submissions!

Be love,
Phoenix

You left your mark on me

Or so you thought

I left my heart

Temporarily

You left your mark on me

Or so you thought

I came back to find it

But somewhere in between

I lost me.

I left more marks on me

Or so I thought

I found myself again

I left more marks on me

Mistook blood for emotion

And I’m jump starting endlessly.

I’ve got my eyes on you

You’re everywhere that I see

I’ve got a circular devotion

To all that’s been failing me.

I gave you everything I feel

Yet nothing that was real

When I went to assess the damage

The marks were gone

But the pain was obscene

It was as if I could taste it

If I ever uttered a word

I might not embrace it

But I can’t help but face it.

Refinancing Meditation

Sometimes the first time you meditate on something isn't enough. In the moment, you can be a practiced yogi, or even a practitioner of meditation; and go as deeply into thought and emotion as time will allow you to go. In that moment, you could have reached the depths of potential for a particular focal point, subject, intention or energy. Yet, with time passing by; this potential changes, and your ability to dig deeper does as well.  This leads to one of the oldest methods to my madness, in reviewing older material; some of which may be unfinished- some of which I previously thought were complete, I walk even further with difficult emotions than my feet would take me the first time around. I don’t always understand what the connection is to my original meditation and writing; to what comes out the second time around. Sometimes the two pieces are related, sometimes the second piece is no more than an extension of the first, and sometimes the second piece takes thinking and feeling in an entirely different direction.  Sometimes when I’m writing the second time around it feels as if I discover the true meaning behind what I was scraping at to begin with. Sometimes that feels like a breakthrough. Other times it feels like a slap in the face, makes me wonder how I could have missed it the first time around. Regardless, I always feel as if I was supposed to re-walk certain paths, and I wouldn’t have known that had I not attempted openly, aimlessly, to step into something real. To reassess that which I had traversed before, to find out if I looked over everything. To find out how I have grown, and where that growth may take me with my older thoughts and intentions. To reevaluate, re-appreciate, respect in retrospect.

Just some thoughts to share for those who are writers or want to take their craft more seriously. Remember, none of us are beyond the need for re-evaluation! It can be immensely powerful to hear others' feedback on your work, but in your own time it is a way to grow beyond your own perspective, and expand your thinking to what's "outside the box." What are some ways you re-evaluate your work?

It's been a very long time since we've seen any submissions here on Road to the Phoenix. I'd love to see more of your work! Please feel free to submit any freewrites, social commentary, poetry or other art forms you feel apply to the themes of this website. Thanks as always for reading!

-Phoenix

Frequencies of Protection

Tell me why,
have I been running in circles
for so long now?
Tell me why,
when I look at you
you don't know me anymore?
Tell me why,
after all this time
I am asking myself the same questions
while the answers often land
in such distance from the truth?

In the end,
when so much depends
on finding the truths
within ourselves;
tell me why,
we spend so much time
and expend precious energy
creating fantasies of grandeur?
To decorate, elaborate, accentuate
and feed our egos...
...a perfect decoy for the truth.

Tell me why,
I often find myself
so far outside of my voice,
that I cannot decode my own
frequencies of protection?
Tell me why,
it's become so difficult
to ascertain the difference
between what I've been
telling myself and what's recorded
in spiritual transmission?

I find it rather unsettling,
that I could step so swiftly
outside of my center,
that I leave no footsteps
for my heart to follow home.
Tell me why, I can sit here
grasping at straws
gasping for clarity
ready to lunge at a moment's notice
just to land in a spot that feels
even remotely like home.

Rumination on NY Times' article, an exposé on "The Brutality of ‘Corrective Rape’"

We as Americans write articles like this and call it anthropological research. We enter a foreign country, study and interview her people, traverse and welcome ourselves in others homes, and into suffering "others'" lives. Then into their lives we inject our analysis, our "educated" opinions, and then report back to America; and into the minds of those who read this story, and ingest it as truth because it comes from a reputable or scholarly source. We can be thorough, scholarly, and even considered "courageous" for telling a story about a "far away place" with a "problem" so severe, that we believe the world's (mainly our) shame is the only prescription to "fix" it. Those might be well deserved descriptions; but of course this, as with most things, is debatable.

What I want to know is, why are we so blind to the ways that these "others" and their stories represent themselves in our own culture, in our own back yards, in our own schools, and in our own homes?  Why do I have to explain what 'rape culture' is, almost every time that I use the term?  Why is it that people look away quickly, as if I've offended their sensibilities, when I tell them that much of my volunteer experience focuses on rape prevention?

With this being said, there is something unmistakably courageous, about giving the voiceless a voice. Rape is a particularly violent form of oppression that is exacerbated by the fear that lives inside of all of us.  The same fear that causes family members to hide and/or condone assault of their loved ones out of shame, in an attempt to "protect" that which they consider sacred.  In allowing the fear to steer the ship, the "sacred" that they were desperate to hide, created the "corrective" action that perpetuates the violence, and sinks the ship. When we hide from the stories, and inside of denial; we're solidifying and empowering the very source of violence that created the stories to begin with.

Can the effort to give a voice to the voiceless, a platform for the forgotten "other" in an often underserved, struggling area, country or society-- veer from courageous, and slip into exploitative? I think so, especially when that "voice" that we are trying to give, is preemptively quieting and redirecting the voice from within, the voice from inside of our own walls. What is it about the voice of our own women, here in the US, that makes us look away, shrug off, make "rape jokes" about, use derogatory terms like "slut," or write off as "feminist ideals?"  I do not intend to discount the value of reporting sexual violence in an effort to expose oppression in its most insidious forms, wherever this report may originate.  In a world where the last thought is placed on the survivors of sexual violence, in a society where we're spending too much time about what the survivor was wearing, how many partners a survivor had in the past, or how many drinks this person had; exposure is the first step to creating change. The value of said reporting notwithstanding, what can we do to create awareness, respect and commitment to addressing, understanding and placing value on the issues in our own backyards? I believe that begins with using our anthropology, to place the same attention and analysis at home as well. That begins by admitting that we have a problem of epidemic proportions; but can we as Americans step out of our self-absorption? I'd like to think that this is possible. What can we do to create a better understanding of our own issues?

stuck awake in the moment when 

sleep is an rsvp'd guest

understanding that life is a

mystery, and all i can do is guess.

Somewhere between sweating 

and a hot mess,

i look over at my gorgeous beauty

and somehow misery has been bested.

Inspired

Inspired by warriors, friends, and the force that brought marriage equality to the Supreme Court!

You think we won't win,
and who I am is a sin?
You think I speak too loud,
and that I am just too proud?
You think it's shoving down your throat,
and believe my rights are your vote?
You think that I'll convert your child,
and that it's okay to condone my defiling?

The world now knows how you feel
and that your ignorance is real.
Marriage is not mine to steal
but your place in history will be revealed.


I'm looking at the flags over Boston today, in support of Marriage Equality at the DOMA Rally at City Hall. I feel proud that I am not devoting my life to robbing life from others who want to live freely, without shame. I am proud to be who I am, regardless of who I say it to, regardless of what the laws will "let me" do.

I'm comfortable to let history define me as a person who won't roll over and die in the face of rampant bigotry and prejudice. I won't stop. I won't give in, and I won't forget about the lives that are changed, hurt or much worse, from oppressive policies/laws/attitudes that put the lives and well being of American citizens, adults and defenseless children, at risk. I won't forget who has been hurt, and I won't forget the people I love, and I won't forget myself. Today and everyday, liberty was intended for everyone.

"When you know your worth, no one can make you feel worthless."

                                                DOMA Rally at the Boston City Hall Plaza 3/26/13

Breathing Phoenix - Reincarnated (revised)

(I decided that the poem needed further work after my first edit, feel free to comment on the two! NOTE: This poem was written/revised for One Billion Rising. Read original Breathing Phoenix here if you wish)

After your invasion,

I thought that I would break.

Me and my big old heart,

what would be left, once I got back up?

Those words were never uttered aloud

but I heard them in the quieted reflections and

muttered memories like amplified whispers.

Sure, I've learned a thing or two about pain

over the years since the terror of your shame.

I lost my innocence on a fateful day, that remains

a distant memory, despite the demise.

I encountered a darkness I had never seen when

I faced the demons incited by you.

But I've learned a thing or two about me as well,

about what is inside me, beyond what you can tell

beyond what others see, or can even hear

underneath my heartbeat, underneath my chest.

Outside of my bleeding heart, yet holding it close.

It pushes me to stand, when my heart wants to rest.

It gets me out of bed, when I want to shut the world out.

It gives me back my smile, when I struggle with my fears.

It encourages me to do my best, when I feel beaten down.

It gives me comfort when I need it the most,

and it understands when my anger roasts me.

It picks me up when I've lost my ground,

and gives me faith far beyond what is "sound."

It's the fire that feeds me when my body runs cold,

and it's the mist that cools me when my passion burns.

It's the reason I stand, and permits me to stand down.

It fuels me when I lose my will, and shows me how to stop when I've had my fill.

It's the reason I'm alive; despite what I do, how much I get hurt

or how much I've been through.

It's stronger than my intuition and even my heart

the spirit inside me will never die.

(My inspiration for this revision)

Breathing Phoenix (Reincarnated)

(I was recently invited to speak for One Billion Rising, and while looking through material I was inspired to reinterpret this piece, as it seems to have taken new meaning in my life over the years, with new vision and growth having occurred since I wrote it. Feel free to share your thoughts!) 

After the invasion,
I thought that I would break.
Me and my big old heart,
what would be left, once I could get back up?
No one ever uttered those words aloud
but I heard them in the quieted tones and the
muttered glances like amplified whispers.

Sure, I've learned a thing or two about pain
over the years since your shame.
I lost my innocence on a fateful day, that remains
a distant memory, despite the demise.
I encountered a darkness I had never seen when
I faced the demons incited by you.

But I've learned a thing or two about me as well,
about what is inside me, beyond what you can tell
beyond what others see, or can even hear
underneath my heartbeat, underneath my chest.
Outside of my bleeding heart, yet holding it close.
It pushes me to stand, when my heart wants to rest.
It gets me out of bed, when I want to shut the world out.
It gives me back my smile, when I struggle with my fears.
It encourages me to do my best, when I feel beaten down.
It gives me comfort when I need it the most,
and it understands when my anger roasts me.
It picks me up when I've lost my ground, and
and gives me faith far beyond what is "sound."
It's the fire that feeds me when my body runs cold,
and it's the mist that cools me when my passion burns.

It's the reason I stand, and permits me to stand down.
It fuels me when I lose my will, and shows me how to stop when I've had my fill.
It's the reason I'm alive; despite what I do, how much I get hurt
or how much I've been through.
It's stronger than my intuition and even my heart
the spirit inside me will never die.