To All You Men To all you men who have given me your advice, unasked. To all you men who have told me how it’s done, to show me your should. To all you men who never asked, “How do you do that? What is your process?” To all of you insensitive to what this telling is doing to my light, my connection, my sense of self. To all of you who HAVE had a sense yet are hell bent on fulfilling feeling safe. To all you men who need me to be less, so you seem more. — To all you grown boys who could not say no to that father, who were not allowed Mommy. Don’t you see? You are beating me. I hide because of your good hiding. __ To all you men who despise the feminine when she arises inside. That sweetness that, if wise, your mother still spies: the cute boy, the kind kid, the tender heart who needs her physical softness. To all you men who have been taught that’s not ok, not manly, Good Boys Don’t Cry, That must be hidden lest ridiculed, scorned, whipped UP to size. __ To all you men who suffer but cannot say, because it is so far hidden you barely feel. To you who fear this demon whispering to you at night in the snug warmth of your curled-up, bedded body. To all you men who see cracks in the lonely masculine demand to provide, protect, be strong, outspoken, give answers that end it, not questions that open. __ I tell you to take your need to overlay me with your ignorance and pain, I ask you to sit with yourself, take a breath before you speak again. I demand you respect the feminine/yin in me, in women, in your mother in whose belly YOU grew. Dare to go inward to find her there too. __ Yes, beneath your fear she is in you as she is here, Yet, you seek her in me, to soothe your pain, to fill the hole in your acceptable game. Stop needing to own me, control my body, silence my sounds put me on a pedestal where I can’t get to ground. End needing to adore me, paint me in Midas’ gold, until oxygen-robbed, I am robbed of my life. __ Welcome her to you. She will come. In a form uncommon, but she is there, With outrageous ways to show you her care. __ To all you men. Thank you. Now, the victory is inward, Not conquered elsewhere. No more whipping girl, She is cutting her hair. EmmaJ - Nov 24 2022
Here’s a short meditation for those moments when you simply want to take 10mins out of your busy day – or rather to add 10 minutes of calm into your day! No need for props or the perfect space to do this in, simply click and listen and enjoy!
Why poetry, you ask? Why breathe, I respond. To capture inner changes I barely perceive. To explore the flavour of spaces between my words. To jump off bridges into adjective and adverb — gladly, potently. To open my heart — then write myself forward onto open page. To elaborate when doldrummed — investigate doll drummed into me, exquisite wonder fashioned out of me as I declare I am lost. Here I am found with pen tip caresses — the swirl and curl of my unfurling mind. I flow onto paper cupped in its splayed hands. EmmaJ - 2021
An offering for pandemic times.
Cancer Prepared Us For This We already have the callouses From dropping to our knees in shock From dragging ourselves through treatment From nightly prayers that death won’t take us. We know the fear, the dread, the tears. We know the denial, the trials of those years. We know the place of solitude Where no-one can reach in, Nor us reach back to normal. And here we are. Collectively shocked. Community-robbed, except… except… This is global. It is local, It is family of billions and of two. It is a different isolation. Corona gathers us together for the first time ever. Yet physically we are parted. Alone. But we feel. We feel our heart. We feel each other. We feel in the quiet a strange, supernatural becoming But is it real? Is it fanciful imagining borne of scavenging for sense? Or is it a deeper knowing that this time was coming The Second Coming was for all of us to rise to. No individual saviour. No guru on the pathway. The next guru is the Sangha - from the wise. Cancer broke us of our blindness. It brought horror and a kindness That now we show the world on their own knees. Help one up. Smooth their face, Hold them close in an embrace That reminds them they were born for this time. To transform the destruction The ego-driven grasping For trinkets that can’t ever satisfy. We are frightened. We surrender. To the impossible horror Of simply not knowing our fate. Death comes knocking For me? For you? Which is the worst of the two? And when it doesn’t. Not just yet. There is still the winning bet… We will all die of something someday. Let’s live now Enjoy the Monday That changed face overnight to any day you choose between moonlight when the muse Returns to haunt our dreams of what’s to come. EmmaJ - April 2020
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