The first real poem that I remember writing, was when I was thirteen. It was a prayer poem in a time of war, a Sonnet, as prescribed by our school teacher. I loved the task. I was surprised at the level of metaphor and symbolism of my 13-year old self. I got a really bad grade for it. It must have scared the school teacher, resulting in me never attempting to write after that.
Two years later a friend committed suicide in the boarding school I was in. I was deeply disturbed by this event. At night I would fall asleep to be awoken by a poem that urged to be written down. I quickly learned to keep a writing pad and pen next to my bed. Mostly, I wrote rebellious judgments about the system, however those poems served the purpose of helping me overcome the tragedy, consciously and at a sub-conscious level.
I am in my forties now, and while there has been dry periods, I do still write. Whatever is in my body, often obstructed from my intellectual mind, whatever needs to be transformed, expressed or healed is brought out by the combination of rhythm and rhyme.
I use this therapeutic tool to communicate. It answers to open ended questions, clarifies and brings to conclusion those drifting thoughts, longing to be placed and to belong. Thus, freeing up my being to be present, clear and available, I write. Often, I write about meditation and stillness, – the spaces between words. I write in conversation to the higher, and to myself. I write about what is and what is not.
There are always themes in our lives. Only one metaphor is necessary to answer to all that you feel and all the scenarios in your life at any one given time. Like that you are a mandala, the center of your own universe.
May your heart be free.