I don’t know when the land tilted.

Are these ice angels hibernating for the winter?

Why is there an angel rabbit?

Why were we the only ones in the canyon?
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: unknown.
I don’t know when the land tilted.

Are these ice angels hibernating for the winter?

Why is there an angel rabbit?

Why were we the only ones in the canyon?
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: unknown.
What will peace look like? People
will still disagree often
but like my parents they will appreciate
evidence and science. They will listen
to each other with interest, with respect.
They will bet a penny or a quarter or a million
imaginary dollars and one will go to look up
the correct capital of Azerbaijan, while
the other argues that they MEANT back in 1478,
really, so they do not owe one million imaginary
dollars and they both start laughing again.
_______________________________
The photograph is of the ice in Echo Canyon, two days ago. Or maybe it is angels, waiting.
Rainshadow Chorale is getting ready for our fall concert. Amazing music! One hundred pages of Rachmaninoff in Russian! I have been practicing remotely, using the recorded choral practices on Facebook, MP3s, language recordings, and my flute to practice tricky sections until they are earwormed into my brain.
The concerts are on Saturday and Sunday, three weekends from now, November 2 and 3, at First Presbyterian Church at 4:00 pm in Port Townsend, Washington. I leave soon to drive back there, cat and all. I think Sol Duc has learned some Russian too.
Here is one of the 15 parts. I like the title: Blessed Be the Man. It makes me think that this is Russian rap music. Actually, I think the whole thing sounds like angels singing in Russian. This is the first time I sing in Russian, but it’s the time that is particularly tricky. Rachmaninoff doesn’t care a bit about time signatures so some measures have eight beats, others twelve, others ten. Count, count, count.
I am using this for the Ragtag Daily Prompt: burgundy, both because of the poster colors and because the music and language is so rich and complex.
Come to the concert if you are anywhere near by!
“Be not affrayed,” said the Angel, “and don’t get into fights.”
“So why do you have a sword?” said the little girl.
“Well,” said the Angel, hiding the sword behind their back, “people are affrayed and tend to behave when they see it.”
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: affray.
I am thinking about monsters
That I am comfortable with the monsters
in my dreams
but terrified by the angels.
Though I type angles.
But I also dream that all the angels fall
all are made to fall
they fall down then back up
when they fall down they burn
if they fall here
burn in the atmosphere
then they are red or black and burnt
and we think they are devils: monsters.
If angels are monsters
and monsters are angels
and they go back and forth
and I type angles
because everyone makes mistakes
even angels
and to make something perfect
is an offense to the Beloved
because only the Beloved is perfect
and ineffable.
Still the angels.
I am afraid.
So was Mary, sore afraid.
Monsters are easy: at worst they can kill me
and they never have
in my dreams.
And they are sad and alone and weep.
I comfort them.
Which makes them afraid,
because they are not used to being loved.
I wonder if I frighten them
like the angels frighten me.
And then I can understand
a little
of why the angels frighten me so much.
I too am not used
to feeling loved.

written September 13, 2023
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: bread winner. But I can’t eat gluten any more and my lungs are too vulnerable for the work I love. So how bread and how winner? Maybe the angels and angles and monsters will tell me.
I am comfortable with the monsters in my dreams.
I dream of monsters howling and I go to them. They could be sick or hurt or need help! I must go to them! And the monsters are very noisy but they are babies. Abandoned and dirty and dark and hungry and cold.
This has nothing to do with my childhood. Do you believe me?
I have a pack and supplies in the dream. I carry the monsters up up into the light. I feed them and bathe them and diaper them and wrap each one in a blanket and hold them. They howl until they are too tired to howl and then they sulk. At first they do not know how to respond to kindness and love. But they learn and grow and are beautiful.
I am not comfortable with the angels.
I dream that all the stars start falling and then I see that they are angels. I am so frightened, why must they fall? I don’t want to be an angel and then I am falling and crying. The angels are at perfect peace with falling but I am not. I don’t understand, Beloved. Why do the angels fall?
I ask the Beloved over and over. My poems are questions. Why, Beloved, why?
The angels fall down and up, over and over. They are good then bad, or labeled bad, then labeled good.
Just like people.
The angels are seen as black or white. But I see them as black on white heaven or white on black heaven, it doesn’t matter. Do not let the color be a label. And after someone falls, they are burnt in the sky. They are seen as a devil or a monster!
Angels falling, fallen, monsters.
And I am here for the monsters. Who are angels, in disguise.
_______________________
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: disguise.
Qia is three. She is scared.
“Don’t be scared or go to your room.”
Qia wants help. She is scared of the monster, FEAR, the giant monster, but her father won’t listen. She sniffles and tries, but she can’t stop crying. She goes to her room, because her father has turned his back. Her mother is drawing. They are busy. They don’t like it when she is scared.
FEAR is enormous and pushes into the room with her. She cries harder in her room with the door closed. No one can hear her now except FEAR. FEAR is large and has horrible drippy teeth and too many arms and keeps swatting at her. Qia gives up and lets FEAR swat her. She sits on the bed with her knees up and puts her head on her arms.
FEAR rages around her room.
After a while Qia is tired of crying. She lifts her head off her arms.
FEAR is smaller. Still bigger than her father, bigger than her mother, but just standing and looking at her. FEAR looks tired too.
Qia pats the bed beside her. FEAR hesitates and looks scared. Qia waits. FEAR shuffles over and sits beside her on the bed.
The room is very quiet. Qia finds a scrap of tissue and blows her nose. She looks sideways at FEAR.
FEAR’s head is down and FEAR seems to be crying. Qia reaches out and takes FEAR’s paw. One of the paws. There are a lot.
FEAR holds her hand tightly and then leans against her. Qia wiggles over a bit more to give FEAR room. FEAR sighs and then snuggles down onto the bed, massive drippy toothy head in Qia’s lap.
Qia strokes FEAR’s fur. It is very soft and dark purple.
FEAR is the first monster that Qia makes friends with. There are many more.
_________________
I was thinking about this story even before the Ragtag Daily Prompt: bugbear.
I am watching a four part video from the UK about illness and trauma.
The first part is about how trauma memories are stored differently from regular memories. Regular memories are stored in files, like stories in a book or a library.
Trauma memories are stored in the amygdala and often are disjointed and broken up and have all of the sensory input from the worst parts, including the emotions.
The therapist is talking about healing: that our tendency is to turn away from the trauma, smooth it over and try to ignore it.
However, the amygdala will not allow this. It will keep bringing the trauma up. And that is actually its’ job, to try to warn and protect us from danger!
The therapist counsels finding a safe time and place and safe person (if you have one) and then making space for the trauma to come back up. One approach is to write out the story, going through that most traumatic part, but not stopping there. What happened next? Writing the story and then putting it aside. Writing it again the next day and doing this for four days. As the story is rewritten and has an ending, even if it is not a happy ending, the story is eventually moved from the amygdala to the regular files. People can and do heal. They may need a lot of time and help, but they can heal.
I am not saying that four days of writing stories is enough. That is one approach, but nothing works for everyone and people need different sorts of help. There are all sorts of paths to healing.
In my Family Practice clinic I would see people in distress. With some gentle prompting and offering space, they would tell me about trauma and things happening in their personal life or work life. Things that were feeling so overwhelming that they could not tell their families or friends and they just could not seem to process the feelings about it. I would keep asking what was happening and give them the space to tell the story. Many times when they reached the present they would stop. There would be a silence. Then I would say, “It seems perfectly reasonable that you feel terrible, frightened, horrified, grieved, whatever they were feeling, with that going on.” And there was often a moment where the person looked inwards, at the arc of the story, and they too felt that their feelings were reasonable.
I would offer a referral to a counselor. “Or you can come back. Do you want to come back and talk about it if you need to?”
Sometimes they would take the referral. Sometimes they would schedule to come back. But nearly half the time they would say, “Let me wait and see. I think I am ok. I will call if I need to. Let me see what happens.”
When a person goes through trauma, many people cut them off. They don’t want to hear about it. They say let it go. They may avoid you. You will find out who your true friends are, who can stand by you when you are suffering. I have trouble when someone tries to show up in my life and wants to just pretend that nothing happened. “Let’s just start from now and go forward.” A family member said that to me recently. Um, no. You do not get to pretend nothing happened or say, “I wanted to stay out of it.” and now show back up. No. No. You are not my friend and will not be. And I am completely unwilling to trade silence about my trauma for your false friendship.
Yet rather than anger, I feel grief and pity. Because this family member can’t process his own trauma and therefore can’t be present for mine. Stunted growth.
People can heal but they need help and they need to choose to do the work of healing.
The four videos are here: https://www.panspandasuk.org/trauma.
This song is a darkly funny illustration: she may be trying to process past trauma, but the narrator doesn’t want anything to do with it. And he may not have the capacity to handle it. He may have his own issues that he has not dealt with. And maybe they both need professionals.
The forum gathers.
Red Paw puts her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. “Told you so. Been telling you for 11 years.”
The small child/angel is sitting in a chair that morphs from regular boardroom chair to youth chair as she morphs back and forth.
“Nice job with the chair.” says Red Paw.
The two split and now there is a Small Child and an angel, sitting in two chairs.
Red Paw morphs too, into a bright red angel with a black halo and black bat wings.
The White angel nods and a feather drops. The feathers are bright white. Her halo is made of gold glittery pipe cleaners and attached at the shoulders.
Red Paw’s halo floats and seems to pull at the room.
The Quiet Woman sits in the fourth chair, with a cup of tea. “Anyone else?” she asks.
The others shake their heads.
“We are discussing the diaspora. Is it time to let them go?”
“Has been for 11 years.” says Red Paw nastily.
The small child nods.
The White angel says, “They want to believe what they want to believe. Let them go.”
“T, B, S, C, S, D, A, F, N, C, T, L, K, R and then next generation as well?”
All three nod.
The small child says, “They can contact us at any time.”
“They won’t.” says Red Paw.
“People can change,” says the White angel.
“And do they always?” says Red Paw.
“No.” says the White angel.
“I agree,” says the Quiet Woman. “We are done.” She brings a gavel down on the table, which rings like a singing bowl. The other three blur and melt in to her.
“We are done.”
_____________________
The photograph was taken 2016 or earlier when Halloween was on a Sunday. I dressed up and so did the minister.
For the Ragtag Daily Prompt: forum.
This story is part of a series about a Balint group for angels. Balint groups are groups for physicians to get together and talk about cases that bother them. This often means facing their own biases and discriminatory feelings. I wrote this in January 2022. The current estimate of Long Covid is 10 to 30% of non hospitalized people. Which is huge and terrifying.
___________________________
“And really, it looks like at least half the population will get Omicron. The question,” says Qia, “is how much Long Haul it causes. If it causes 30-50%, like Delta, we are in serious trouble.”
The angels are silent.
“Do you think it will?”
“I am hoping for under 10%.” says Qia. “But of course I do not know.”
Silence again.
“Why do you go to WORST CASE?” snaps Algernon. His wings rustle.
Qia blinks at him slowly.
She thinks about it. “It is the safest place to start.”
Algernon frowns at her. Another angel slowly nods.
“If I start in the worst case scenario, I can face it. I have to think about it, work through it, plan for it. Then I can back off and hope for one of the less horrific scenarios.”
“You are WEIRD.” says Algernon.
Qia is annoyed. Her wings go bat and blood red.
“Word.” whispers a very young angel.
“WHY?” snaps Qia, “WHY NOT face the worst?”
“Most people never do,” says the moderator.
“What?” says Qia.
“Most people never face the worst. They don’t want to. They are terrified. They are scared. They do things to avoid thinking about it. They skip that step and just go straight to hope.”
Qia glares at her. The moderator smiles and her wings go black as pitch.
“We aren’t PEOPLE. We are ANGELS.” says Qia, nearly snarling.
Algernon laughs. “Yeah, well, some of us do not want to think about the worst either. That is Gawd(esses) job.”
Qia is doubly pissed off to be crying. “No, we have to think too.”
“Qia, I agree, but it is hard.” says the moderator. “That is why you have the job you have. Because you are willing to go straight to the dark.”
Qia has her face in her hands.
The angels surround her, soothing, and start to sing.
BLIND WILDERNESS
in front of the garden gate - JezzieG
Discover and re-discover Mexicoβs cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Or not, depending on my mood
All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain!
An onion has many layers. So have I!
Exploring the great outdoors one step at a time
Some of the creative paths that escaped from my brain!
Books, reading and more ... with an Australian focus ... written on Ngunnawal Country
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
spirituality / art / ethics
Coast-to-coast US bike tour
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Refugees welcome - FlΓΌchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflΓΌchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
En fotoblogg
Books by author Diana Coombes
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From the Existential to the Mundane - From Poetry to Prose
1 Man and His Bloody Dog
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Anne M Bray's art blog, and then some.
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