Category: songs/poetry

  • depression

    I’m somewhat hesitant to share this publicly. It’s from a tough time in my life, an era that I rarely discuss anymore. But true to the theme of this blog, it shows some of the important ‘steps’ of my life journey. Perhaps it might resonate with some of you. It seems worth sharing if just for that reason.

    Recently I’ve had three different friends mention their ongoing struggles with depression. Though I feel relatively undepressed right now, there are days that it still seems close. And I always feel afraid that it will return and I won’t be strong enough to fight it or get help. The odd thing for me about this period of my life, was that while I was depressed I found it impossible to see what help I needed, or I lacked the ability to get the help. Now that I am on the other end of it, it seems so clear to me what I should have done. Depression is just hard that way.

    One of the things that was helpful to me in my struggle with depression was the archetypal story of the Sumerian goddess Inanna (you can read more about such goddess archetypes in the writings of Jungian analyst Jean Shinoda Bolen). A few years later, I wrote this poem about how her story paralleled mine. For those of you not familiar with the Inanna legend, she is a goddess who travels to to the underworld. In the process she is stripped of all of her royal trappings and nearly dies (or rather, she does die, but then she is resurrected by her friends who bring her the bread and water of life–there is much Christ-like symbolism in the Inanna myth, which might resonate with some of you). For me, this legend gave me hope. While I traveled in the shadow of depression, hope was so elusive. During that period of my life, food lost its savor. I stopped eating and weighted less than when I was in high school. I developed chronic bronchitis and other health issues. My favorite thing during that time: running the washing machine–its sounds soothed me. I often curled up next to it just to feel its vibrations move through my body. Such a scary, scary time.

    There were other changes in my life that also helped, which aided my return. I returned to school part-time, we moved, John took a job where he could be home more frequently. Many good, healing changes.

    I don’t know if this poem will hold any meaning for you. For me it is a bit scary, it makes me sad, but it also shows me how far I’ve come in the intervening years…

    Most of the words in italics are from the Inanna legend except for the first stanza where they are bits of wording and my thoughts from the Mormon temple initiation rite. The middle section with the asterisk is from the Psalms–this section, IMO, shows that he knew depression. I have returned to these Biblical verses passage many times, finding comfort that someone else out there understood my pain…

    Inanna

    I remove my shoes
    holy ground
    Slip off my socks
    Pull my gown over my head
    Unfasten bra
    like before
    Lift off my garments,
    Signs and Tokens
    a shield, a protection
    the possibility of destruction

    Lay my marriage rings on the shelf

    From the Great Above she opened her ears to the Great Below.
    From the Great Above the goddess opened her ears to the Great Below.
    From the Great Above Inanna opened her ears to the Great Below.
    My lady abandoned heaven and earth to descend to the Underworld.
    Inanna abandoned heaven and earth to descend to the Underworld.
    She abandoned her office of holy priestess to descend to the Underworld.

    I run the washing machine on empty, watch the water fill the tub
    Curl up by its side and fall asleep to the vibrations
    I am poured out like water, and all my bones are out of joint:
    my heart is like wax; it is melted in the midst of my bowels.
    My strength is dried up like a potsherd;
    and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws;
    and thou hast brought me into the dust of death
    I may tell all my bones;
    they look and stare upon me
    *

    Looking inside
    Sinew on bone, moving under skin.
    The fat melting away leaving the outline of underneath
    the thrum of hunger in my loins,
    the cough and quiet wheeze of breath

    Inanna goes naked, crawls on all fours
    Then Erishkegal fastened on Inanna the eye of death.
    She spoke against her the word of wrath.
    She uttered against her the cry of guile and struck her.
    Inanna was turned into a corpse, a piece of rotting meat,
    and was hung from a hook
    in the wall

    In the hall
    is where he lives.
    I can see him there in the reflecting mirrors and I am afraid.
    I have sores in my mouth
    with ragged edges and I gnaw at the corners until blood comes.
    And I flick the tip of my tongue there.

    O, Oh my insides
    O, Oh my outsides
    O, Oh I’m dying inside
    O, Oh I don’t want to be alone

    For the corpse: Inanna
    Bread of life, kurgarra,
    Water of life, galatur
    Awake and arise
    And Dumuzi** shall go in your place
    Crawling on his belly
    Licking your heel.

    *KJV Psalms 22:14-16
    **Dumuzi is Inanna’s slacker husband. He ends up taking her place in the underworld and is turned into a snake. He’s a sort of Satan figure if you were to make comparisons to Christian cosmology.

  • flash poetry: I AM

    It’s been awhile since we’ve done some flash poetry, so get a piece of paper or open a text program on your computer and write at the top: I AM

    Then fill in the blanks (write the first thing/s that come to mind):

    I Am [write your hometown(s)]

    I Am [write your favorite color, scent, feeling, and food]

    I Am [your hobbies, sports or leisure activities]

    I Am [write what you want to become someday, your profession or roles]

    I Am [write the names of the people you care about the most]

    I Am [write your name]

    TA DA!!!! You have a poem.

    Mine:

    I Am Tulsa, Bakersfield, & Irvine
    I Am red, vanilla, catfur, and soft cookies
    I Am blogging, drinking tea, partying with friends, sitting in silence, getting dirty in my garden
    I Am a writer
    I Am John, CatGirl, GameBoy, and my Mom
    I Am Jana

    We did this exercise in the class today. We were talking about labels that teachers use with students and had just finished an exercise where we each walked around with labels on our foreheads and had to figure out ‘what we were’ (I was the class Dunce thanks to one of my silly students). After that, having the students read their ‘I Am’ poems there was a kind of reverence in the room. It was just beautiful. So simple and yet so profound.

    What surprised me about my own response….I realized that for me being a professor is really just my current path towards being a writer. That that’s ultimately what I most desire as my profession. That was just so profound and clear. I’ve been carrying with me ever since this morning. A Writer. Yes.

    So people, your poems, they belong in the Comments…
    (note: Oh, and those of you who want to do an ‘in-bed’ version of their I AM, you can share those after we pull out ‘Apples to Apples’ at the next chez pilgrim par-tay)

    :)

  • Just sing

    In various venues I’ve discussed how singing aided my journey from depression.* Even given that, I don’t sing as often now as I did a few years ago. I think I’m just too wrapped up in my daily busy-ness. I’m in a rut, perhaps. So I appreciated xJane’s challenge last week to “Sing.” As part of that I’m sharing a favorite song with you (the video follows the lyrics). I especially like the lines that I’ve put in bold type.

    Why this song resonates with me: I think fear rules far too many of our choices. Some days we need to just break out into song, not being afraid of what others around us may think. Just letting the words rise in our throats and drip off of our lips. Gaining pleasure from the strength of our own voice…

    There is this thing that’s like touching except you don’t touch
    Back in the day it just went without saying at all
    All the world’s history gradually dying of shock
    There is this thing it’s like talking except you don’t talk
    You sing
    You sing

    Sing for the bartender sing for the janitor sing
    Sing for the cameras sing for the animals sing
    Sing for the children shooting the children sing
    Sing for the teachers who told you that you couldn’t sing
    Just sing

    There is thing keeping everyone’s lungs and lips locked
    It is called fear and it’s seeing a great renaissance
    After the show you can not sing wherever you want
    But for now let’s just pretend we’re all gonna get bombed
    So sing

    Sing cause its obvious sing for the astronauts sing
    Sing for the president sing for the terrorists sing
    Sing for the soccer team sing for the janjuweed sing
    Sing for the kid with the phone who refuses to sing
    Just sing

    As a little treat, you might want to check out my old post about John’s uninhibited singing….

    *Such as in my Sunstone presentation on this topic–see SL04271, Real Goddesses Have Curves (and Identities)

  • sublime

    Ok, I know I may be in the minority here, but really, can anything be more sublime than watching a vid of John Denver singing with a cute young Japanese guy (John Denver’s highwater pants and blow-dried ‘do notwithstanding)…

  • cemetery


    o captain, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    A got a good cemetery fix while in Boston. Unfortunately, though, the lighting was never ideal for photos–either rainy & dark or too sunny. I do like how this one turned out, though, because of the filtered sunlight on the headstones behind the one in the foreground. It gives the photo somewhat of an ethereal quality, I think.

    I Died For Beauty But Was Scarce

    I died for beauty but was scarce
    Adjusted in the tomb,
    When one who died for truth was lain
    In an adjoining room.

    He questioned softly why I failed?
    “For beauty,” I replied.
    “And I for truth, the two are one;
    We brethren are,” he said.

    And so, as kinsmen met a night,
    We talked between the rooms,
    Until the moss had reached our lips,
    And covered up our names.
    ~Emily Dickinson

  • starflower


    starflower, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    From a set of photos that I snapped at an organic garden/farm in Concord.

    All Things Live
    All Things live;
    The innermost thoughts
    Of a [wo]man’s soul
    Walk the highway
    Of the Universe,
    And are seen
    By all the pilgrims,
    Who have gone before.
    ~Opal Whiteley

  • celebration


    wedding day, 1992, originally uploaded by pilgrimgirl.

    Soon we will be leaving for another anniversary adventure together. It’s a big one (15 years married!) so we set our sights high and are going cross-country. And I can’t wait! Traveling together with John is just SO FUN! He knows how to find the best food, the funkiest bookshops (with kitties!), and the most charming streets. Best of all, we will be encountering all of this together. (Oh, and we will be hanging out with some of you, our loyal friends and readers, along the way–woohoo!)

    I came across this Yeats poem today and it touched me–I especially love the lines that read:
    “But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,
    And loved the sorrows of your changing face.”

    I’m so grateful that John continues to love this pilgrim soul of mine, and that I continue to delight and revel in his as well. :)

  • into my heart

    A provocative thought from Rumi, sent to me by a Friend today:

    I tried to find Him on the Christian cross, but He was not there;
    I went to the temple of the Hindus and to the old pagodas, but I could not find a trace of Him anywhere.
    I searched on the mountains and in the valleys, but neither in the heights nor in the depths was I able to find Him.
    I went to the Kaaba in Mecca, but He was not there either.
    I questioned the scholars and philosophers, but He was beyond their understanding.
    I then looked into my heart, and it was there where He dwelled that I saw Him;
    He was nowhere else to be found.
    -Jalaluddin Rumi, poet and mystic (1207-1273)

  • waiting for…


    At the WACK exhibit there was a video showing of Faith reading this poem. She rocked back and forth as she recited each line. It was incredibly moving.

    As she read I realized that I have waited for almost all of these things and some I am still waiting for. Do you think this ‘waiting’ is simply part of the human condition or is it an experience that is peculiar to women? What, if anything, do you feel that you are “waiting for”?

    Waiting
    A Poem by Faith Wilding

    Waiting . . . waiting . . . waiting . . .
    Waiting for someone to come in
    Waiting for someone to hold me
    Waiting for someone to feed me
    Waiting for someone to change my diaper
    Waiting . . .

    Waiting to scrawl, to walk, waiting to talk
    Waiting to be cuddled
    Waiting for someone to take me outside
    Waiting for someone to play with me
    Waiting for someone to take me outside
    Waiting for someone to read to me, dress me, tie my shoes
    Waiting for Mommy to brush my hair
    Waiting for her to curl my hair
    Waiting to wear my frilly dress
    Waiting to be a pretty girl
    Waiting to grow up
    Waiting . . .

    Waiting for my breasts to develop
    Waiting to wear a bra
    Waiting to menstruate
    Waiting to read forbidden books
    Waiting to stop being clumsy
    Waiting to have a good figure
    Waiting for my first date
    Waiting to have a boyfriend
    Waiting to go to a party, to be asked to dance, to dance close
    Waiting to be beautiful
    Waiting for the secret
    Waiting for life to begin
    Waiting . . .

    Waiting to be somebody
    Waiting to wear makeup
    Waiting for my pimples to go away
    Waiting to wear lipstick, to wear high heels and stockings
    Waiting to get dressed up, to shave my legs
    Waiting to be pretty
    Waiting . . .

    Waiting for him to notice me, to call me
    Waiting for him to ask me out
    Waiting for him to pay attention to me
    Waiting for him to fall in love with me
    Waiting for him to kiss me, touch me, touch my breasts
    Waiting for him to pass my house
    Waiting for him to tell me I’m beautiful
    Waiting for him to ask me to go steady
    Waiting to neck, to make out, waiting to go all the way
    Waiting to smoke, to drink, to stay out late
    Waiting to be a woman
    Waiting . . .

    Waiting for my great love
    Waiting for the perfect man
    Waiting for Mr. Right
    Waiting . . .

    Waiting to get married
    Waiting for my wedding day
    Waiting for my wedding night
    Waiting for sex
    Waiting for him to make the first move
    Waiting for him to excite me
    Waiting for him to give me pleasure
    Waiting for him to give me an orgasm
    Waiting . . .

    Waiting for him to come home, to fill my time
    Waiting . . .

    Waiting for my baby to come
    Waiting for my belly to swell
    Waiting for my breasts to fill with milk
    Waiting to feel my baby move
    Waiting for my legs to stop swelling
    Waiting for the first contractions
    Waiting for the contractions to end
    Waiting for the head to emerge
    Waiting for the first scream, the afterbirth
    Waiting to hold my baby
    Waiting for my baby to suck my milk
    Waiting for my baby to stop crying
    Waiting for my baby to sleep through the night
    Waiting for my breasts to dry up
    Waiting to get my figure back, for the stretch marks to go away
    Waiting for some time to myself
    Waiting to be beautiful again
    Waiting for my child to go to school
    Waiting for life to begin again
    Waiting . . .

    Waiting for my children to come home from school
    Waiting for them to grow up, to leave home
    Waiting to be myself
    Waiting for excitement
    Waiting for him to tell me something interesting, to ask me how I feel
    Waiting for him to stop being crabby, reach for my hand, kiss me good morning
    Waiting for fulfillment
    Waiting for the children to marry
    Waiting for something to happen
    Waiting . . .

    Waiting to lose weight
    Waiting for the first gray hair
    Waiting for menopause
    Waiting to grow wise
    Waiting . . .

    Waiting for my body to break down, to get ugly
    Waiting for my flesh to sag
    Waiting for my breasts to shrivel up
    Waiting for a visit from my children, for letters
    Waiting for my friends to die
    Waiting for my husband to die
    Waiting . . .

    Waiting to get sick
    Waiting for things to get better
    Waiting for winter to end
    Waiting for the mirror to tell me that I’m old
    Waiting for a good bowel movement
    Waiting for the pain to go away
    Waiting for the struggle to end
    Waiting for release
    Waiting for morning
    Waiting for the end of the day
    Waiting for sleep
    Waiting . . .

    “Waiting” was performed at Womanhouse in Los Angeles sponsored by the Feminist Art Program, California Institute of the Arts.

  • non, je ne regrette rien

    If “La Vie en Rose” is playing in a theater near you, I highly recommend that you watch it. It’s well-crafted, well-acted, and quite moving. A biopic about French singer Edith Piaf, it’s not hagiographic. She was certainly human: selfish, addicted to drugs and alcohol, etc. But she also experienced enormous tragedy: her only child dying, several traumatic relationships, a childhood spent in her grandmother’s brothel, singing on the streets to earn money for food & booze. Though the film doesn’t touch on her resistance work during WWII, that’s also an important element of her fame and fiery spirit.

    The film is non-chronological, which works well in this case as it contrasts her youthful disappointments, her meteoric rise to fame, and then her physical decline from chronic & terminal disease in her late 40s. For me, the overarching theme of the film was for Piaf to actually ‘live’ her music rather than just belting out pretty songs. By the end, when she is onstage in what will be a final heroic rendition of her song “Non, Je ne Regrette Rien”, you can see that she really owns the song. It is pure Edith Piaf, with all of her flaws, singing of the richness of her life. Here’s a quick youtube vid of her performing the song following these translated lyrics…

    Translated from the French
    No! No regrets
    No! I will have no regrets
    All the things
    That went wrong
    For at last I have learned to be strong

    No! No regrets
    No! I will have no regrets
    For the grief doesn’t last
    It is gone
    I’ve forgotten the past

    And the memories I had
    I no longer desire
    Both the good and the bad
    I have flung in a fire
    And I feel in my heart
    That the seed has been sown
    It is something quite new
    It’s like nothing I’ve known

    No! No regrets
    No! I will have no regrets
    All the things that went wrong
    For at last I have learned to be strong

    No! No regrets
    No! I will have no regrets
    For the seed that is new
    It’s the love that is growing for you

  • it’s (kiss me now) spring!

    when faces called flowers float out of the ground…

    when faces called flowers float out of the ground
    and breathing is wishing and wishing is having-
    but keeping is downward and doubting and never
    -it’s april(yes,april;my darling)it’s spring!
    yes the pretty birds frolic as spry as can fly
    yes the little fish gambol as glad as can be
    (yes the mountains are dancing together)

    when every leaf opens without any sound
    and wishing is having and having is giving-
    but keeping is doting and nothing and nonsense
    -alive;we’re alive,dear:it’s(kiss me now)spring!
    now the pretty birds hover so she and so he
    now the little fish quiver so you and so i
    now the mountains are dancing, the mountains)

    when more than was lost has been found has been found
    and having is giving and giving is living-
    but keeping is darkness and winter and cringing
    -it’s spring(all our night becomes day)o,it’s spring!
    all the pretty birds dive to the heart of the sky
    all the little fish climb through the mind of the sea
    all the mountains are dancing;are dancing)
    –e.e.cummings
    [hat tip to 37 days for the poem above]