Layers of Self

Meenal Chaudhari

LMFT # 94678

The Saratoga Creek Building, 20688, Suite # 1,

Fourth Street, Saratoga, CA 95070

408-827-5722 therapy@layersofself.com

 

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Poetry


image courtsey: themoonschool.org

My Krishna is blue
I played Holi with Gopala
And now my hair is blue
Having taken on his hue

Deep in the night
The blue seeps through
And dyes my thoughts
Churning ‘em into Love

The cobwebs of ol' patterns
Get washed by the
Sweet sound of his flute song
Waking me from Maya's dream.


She walks,

She walks with a little leap in her step,

The leap is in her right leg, not her left.

So every right step she takes

She does with a little leap

a leap of trust, a leap of joy.

Some call it a disability,

Her special ability to

leap with every right step.

But she can walk,

walk with a leap in the

rightness of her step.

Every time she takes a right step,

her heart bounces up in bliss

accompanied by a little gasp,

of effort, of delight, of pleasure

rippling through her muscles

in the rightness of her step,

in the Truth of her Being.


that little girl
hides in the corner
hoping nobody notices
her plight and her shame

that little girl
turns invisible
to protect herself
and erase her pain

that little girl
cannot say what she feels
or what she thinks
for no one cares to hear her tale

that little girl
cannot complain or confide
for no one believes her
or takes her side

that little girl
has been a stranger to her past
disowning a part of herself
that disgusted her so
though she was not to blame
she was not to know
the fear nay her terror
held her hostage
and made her an accomplice
to the keeping of the sordid secret

exactly what happened and how
is blocked from her mind
though she is certain it was
her dad and his older brother
who subjugated her will to theirs
by the use of force and might
to satiate their salacious lust
they laughed derisively
at her trust and innocence
their perversion had won
trampled over a little bud

that little girl
felt betrayed
on so many levels

that little girl
knows it was wrong
to be victimized for
their inappropriate desire

that little girl
ccould not sing her song
for they threatened her with death
though not her own

that little girl
felt powerless to defend herself

that little girl
felt helpless and hopeless
for her oppressors
were the very ones, who ought to have
been her protectors

that little girl
felt scared
that somehow it was all her fault

that little girl
felt guilty
that if someone found out
she would be blamed

that little girl
felt lost and confused
in that unsafe world
where nothing was at it seemed
or ought to have been

that little girl
was mad
she was fucking raging mad
at her mom and at her dad
at her whole family and clan
for at some level they all knew
yet no one rescued her
no one saved her
no one stood up for her

that little girl
was furious
her fury a rolled up ball
sitting in her belly

that little girl
could explode
any minute now
spill out her guts
and spill out all the dirty little dark secrets
she was made to carry
but wait

that little girl
does not do that
instead she implodes
she swallows it whole
turning it into a black hole
a place of nothing
of no feeling, no sensing, no memory
nothing happened, no one died,
no one had to be buried
no one cried

mom and dad are safe now
uncle and aunt at a distance
everything is as it should be
(on the surface at least)
except she can no longer love them
unconditionally

the implosion
causes a crack in her body
ever so slight and subtle
that sits by the sacral curve
and holds her unconscious distrust of the world

that little girl
has grown up now
and she can write a poem
sing her song
tell her tale

that little girl
has matured enough
to work through her pain
and her myriad feelings
to come to a place of forgiveness

that little girl
is fearless
is free of guilt, shame and/or blame
is a pure, clean, clear, innocent girl

that little girl
opens her heart with love
voices her truth with compassion
and sees others as mirrors of her Self


A husband and wife

Have it all very nice

A house with a view

A garden, a stew

They play and they gambol

They sing and they sink

Into the quagmire of emotions

they never leave behind.

A husband and wife

Have it all very fine

Yet they wonder

and they ponder

what would make

it all worthwhile?

A husband and wife

Have it all it would seem

Yet the distances betwixt them

Do often intervene

And the longed for intimacy

Is somewhere out at sea

Where the angels step in to heal

as the demons come clean.

A washing of the soul

Can bring that joy about

That calls with the fervent cry of

The cuckoo

and the peacock in a cloud.

May all your dreams turn lucid

And all fantasy abound

with the clarity of truth seeking

A homecoming

of ye to y'rself

aloud.

In the hour of darkness,

the night is long and king,

no beacons show the way,

the promise of morrow's daybreak is thin,

all is pitch and black,

moroseness rides high,

the hope of light, of white - only an abstraction in the mind.

In the hour of darkness

we writhe and cry for a respite

or blind our eyes with unshed tears,

we cringe, we hide in fear

and shut our eyes to ourselves and others.

we refuse to recognise our fates

morbidity grips us, yet we struggle and fight

anything but surrender to the evil might.

In the hour of darkness

we tire, we take a break from the relentless turmoil,

we rest our burden of guilt and shame

of anger against injustice, wrath against rage,

our overworked shoulders slump

and let slide the control in our fatigue;

And lo, the light shines from within,

the glow without awakens other slumbering souls,

and rouses the self to step out

of the shadows of the ego

the new day breaks unannounced

 

 

 

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