Garden Of Our Wounds

I woke up and couldn't sleep, so I wondered
to my jounral to record my dreams,
while I played a game with my mind,
only to find a small child nestled inside
the haunted memories of my past, until
I wrote from my heart where time didn't last,
and my heart created a story as my life
flashed before me. Some call me strange
as they waste away their days playing
a game with life, but there must be a reason
for this season? As I sit here and create what
not be forgotten, my heart begins to soften
while something inside fights to stay alive and
I wonder, who am I because it’s only a matter
of time before this body will die.

It was one of those dreams where you wake up in a puddle of sweat, wondering what the fuck just happened.

I looked at my clock with blurry eyes and saw only 2:19 am.

No use in trying to go back to bed at this hour. I've been here before, and it would only lead to more tossing and turning as my adrenalin-fueled body was not ready to rest.

Writing what I was feeling was the best thing I could think of, and perhaps a few cups of coffee and some neurotrophic could help me get into a flow.

One thousand one hundred seventy-one words before the sunrise - woohoo!

I am data dumping a rough first draft of a new book. In this phase, I take my outline and write anything I can think of with references to validate my view on life and include prose and poetry. The coffee and Alpha Brain seemed to have helped my creative state this morning, or was it the dream I can't seem to recall?

Melina woke up at 6:37 am, and we did our mindfulness cards. She chose two cards that happened to be pertinent to my life at the moment. I need these little reminders to slow down more than her.

I love our time together. Parenting is an adventure. Wild and unpredictable, yet rich with precious memories that tie a lifetime of love together. Anyone who is a parent or has spent time with young children knows that children mimic what they see in the world- whether from a teacher, parent, friend, or character they watch on screen. This means we cannot leave even the smallest detail of life to go unnoticed, for it will plant a seed so deep and grow into something far more challenging than originally intended.

Maybe that is why I woke up in sweat this morning?

I am in a place of confusion in my own life, and raising a daughter tends to trigger unhealthy patterns from my past, bringing up weeds of darkness that choke any chance of unconditional love from a little girl. If I do not know this conditioning, I will project my pain onto my daughter unwillingly while drifting farther apart from her.

Maybe you can see parts of my story in your own life?

Many of us come from places where we never felt seen or heard, and we silenced our pain to conform to the expectations of others. As a result, we never slow down to ask- who am I?

Think about how you go through life at the moment right now.

How much of your life have you chosen to live, and how much of your life is a reflection of a deep-rooted belief you inherited?

This isn't a judgment of your life. This is me simply saying, I know what it feels like to be choked by weeds of the past. It takes an ongoing effort to continue to find wisdom from the garden of our wounds. It's a lifetime of gardening that will yield significant results, showing us that our stories matter and is worth the effort.

As we give ourselves permission to lean into life, we will see everything we need. We cut the weeds of the past and create seeds that bloom into vibrant colors of love with daily practice.

Since I started to share my story through poetry and prose a few short years ago, people from all walks of life have told me they have no clue how to feel or express what needs to come through. They immediately get caught in the comparison trap and think their story isn't as traumatic as mine or others. And what I tell them is the same response passed on to me when I felt my story didn't matter- your story, voice, and feelings matter. They always do.

My poetry and prose follow an unconditional framework for understanding the garden of my wounds, giving words a space for the truth to clear because the past will always find its way into our lives until we find the courage to start gardening.

Till next week

GK