Traumas

Traumas

The traumas of the past

                                                                Embed themselves

                                                                                                                                Deep inside.

And fester.

An acid

                In the mind,

                                That erodes

                                                All that is good.

At times forgotten

                But merely lying dormant

                                To rise

                                                Ever larger

                                                                Until

                                                                                It swamps

                                                                                                The psyche

                                                                                                                And perverts

                                                                                                                                The being;

The core of all time.

The traumas of the past

                Rise

                                Like grotesque monsters

                                                Escaping

                                                                From the

                                                                                Clammy, Claustrophobic clutches

                                                                                                Of a deep internal tomb.

                                                                                                                To strangle

                                                                                                                                The life

Out of the present.

No trauma is ever healed.

Opher – 28.12.2024

In my experience I see the damage done.

We think we are resilient but we aren’t. The human mind is a delicate machine. Our minds are complex and susceptible to harm. Once damaged they never heal. We can never unsee, unfeel or forget.

The damage may lie dormant in the subconscious but it festers and works away at our sanity.

Every betrayal, every abandonment, every injury and pain is stored up and presents itself in hurt, in protective behaviour, in withdrawal and psychosis.

It’s not just the major things, the PTSD, the major breakdowns, even the lesser stuff throws us off kilter.

The bullied bully. The hurt hurt. The abandoned always leave. The unloved cannot love. The damaged damage.

The world runs on fear and hate. Politicians stoke it.

The world runs on pain.

Just imagine if we could heal all those damaged minds and run the world on love and compassion?

Our Breath

Our Breath

My breath,

                Our breath,

                                The rustle of leaves.

My heartbeat,

                Our heartbeat,

                                Susurrations on the breeze.

My dreams,

                Our dreams,

                                Green splendour of nature.

My life,

                Our life,

                                Defying all nomenclature.

Adrift on a cosmic island,

                Wondrously

Alive

                Myriads

                                Interconnected

                                                Wonders.

Opher – 20.11.2024

Sometimes you simply have to stand aside and gasp. Here we are on this tiny rock spinning and spiralling through space at colossal speeds.

Once, just once, the chemicals came together.

Now we have this vast interconnected web of wonder, spawning consciousness, self-awareness and beauty.

So delicate, so unlikely, so marvellous.

Incredible. I am incredulous.

We are part of this. We are all one. My breath; our breath.