Now Playing: The No-Sleep Zone

by Kari

I had never experienced sleeping problems until a year ago. Suddenly all of the complaints and stories that I had heard about were happening to me. For weeks I received very little rest, but instead entered a new territory of the night.

 

Insomnia Night

Insomnia Night
fright
princess wave
restless knave
cells fighting
freak show sighting
anxiety parade
clock stopping
heady zone
dead phone
house humans snoring
my body imploring
excruciating challenge
don’t move
breath no soothe
panic driven
up to pace
tomorrow a waste

 

What words/phrases would you use to express your bouts of insomnia? [contact-form][contact-field label=’Name’ type=’name’ required=’1’/][contact-field label=’Email’ type=’email’ required=’1’/][contact-field label=’Website’ type=’url’/][contact-field label=’Comment’ type=’textarea’ required=’1’/][/contact-form] 

 

Are You Spinning Around in Busyness? You’re Not Alone.

by Holly

On busyness. 

Spinning.  You and I are the hands of a clock, never moving synchronously, rarely being one.  I am wound by something else, something…out.  All that “needs” to be done.   Every time I reach the top, a rush of success fills me.  (or does it?)

Mechanically, I tick.  If I stopped, I would be broken.  And brokenness would require meeting You. Courage.  My opposite of success: something other than doing, other than working.

The circles are always there, tempting me to spin.  But You are always there too, beckoning me to stop.

There is no heart in the spin.  No joy.  No peace.  No feeling.  It just is.

But I, I was made for stopping, breaking the circle.  I was made for filling my heart with oneness through the brokenness.

Unwind me until I stop because stopping is where I find my heart.

The unbrokenness of the circle tricks me into complacency, energizes me by the stuff out there.  My heart suffocates until I face the brokenness.  Until I share it.  Until I am one with You, and others, from in here.

 

Where’s My Mirror? I Gotta Cry

by Kari

As a child, my parents would sometimes find me in my room, on my bed, with a mirror in hand.  I wasn’t fixing my hair, was too young to have makeup.  For some odd reason this little girl liked looking in the mirror and crying.  I’m not exactly sure what I was feeling at the time, but the reality of emoting with myself was powerful nonetheless.  Thanks Mom and Dad for not interrupting these little practice sessions!

 

Cry Practice

Alone in my room
my Barbies and I
some deep thing looms
a mirror I spy

Study my face
not really the point
stuck in this place
reach inside, disjoint

Mixing ingredients
within my head
no need to expedient
not time for bed

Pucker those lips
scrunch those brows
breath does flips
now try a scowl

Produce a tear
it feels good
to cry right here
with myselfhood

Childhood now past
these episodes funny
parents remember fast
“that was so cute honey”

Cry practice don’t shun
no longer disprove
maybe even fun
my childlikeness improve

 

What was your experience with crying as a child? [contact-form][contact-field label=’Name’ type=’name’ required=’1’/][contact-field label=’Email’ type=’email’ required=’1’/][contact-field label=’Website’ type=’url’/][contact-field label=’Comment’ type=’textarea’ required=’1’/][/contact-form]