Beyond the mask…nothing

My delay in writing has been due to moving into a cabin in the woods that I was excited about a couple of weeks ago.  It is such a lovely, quiet place. Unlike the dwelling of the Unabomber, my cabin has more than one room, running water and electricity…and I am not seeking a primitive lifestyle; only quiet, semi-seclusion.  For the record, I have no interest in making bombs either. These days, I’m more of a hazard to myself than others.

I have been contemplating the question by my therapist: “Who am I when I am not wearing a mask?”  I am still no closer to an answer than I was in 1986 when I first began therapy. Seems it is automatic for me to define “self” according to whatever behavior I may be engaging in at the time or whatever emotion I might be experiencing at any given moment.  

Several months ago, I attempted to discover self through meditation.  According to some Youtube videos, I could achieve this by “looking within”.  Although I must admit, I don’t know where “within” is exactly. I don’t see anything when I “look within”…just blank.  My therapist suggested that I might have a “blockage” and that could be why I can’t “see within”. Blockage? Why can’t it be that there’s nothing there?  Where am I supposed to be going, anyway? I’m not even clear how meditation works. Perhaps it requires a different skill set I have not yet acquired.

I am pretty good at psychological projection onto inanimate objects though.  Which I suspect is somewhat akin to religion. Speaking of which, I wrote a type of poem about the goddess Morrigan after reading about her through the study of Celtic mythology and beliefs.  It is a mixture of how she is portrayed by others, as well as my own search for self and attempt to see beyond my own mask.

Morrigan, Morrigan

Phantom queen.

Binding my fate

And setting the scene.

Morrigan, Morrigan

The one not clear.

Challenging me

To overcome my fear.

Morrigan, Morrigan

Who ignores demands.

They run through my fingers

Like grains of sand.

Morrigan, Morrigan

Weaver of time.

Creating a mountain

Then hurrying me to climb.

Morrigan, Morrigan

Shifter of shape.

Constant lessons

I cannot escape.

Morrigan, Morrigan

The one who knows.

I follow your path

But see only shadows.

Morrigan, Morrigan

I must open my eyes

If I’m to see you

Beyond your reflected guise.

©Shadow

Life robbery

Before sky’s black cloak

The horizon was painted in red

I knew then

The arrival of winter’s dread.

 

I conversed with my father

As you lay inside sleeping

Straw death is coming

But no one is weeping.

 

As you travel Hel’s road

I don’t know what to feel

I think I’m numb

And none of it seems real.

 

I’ve known for weeks

This day would arrive

The time is coming

When you’re no longer alive.

 

In silence I stare

At the borderland of the sun

Searching for emotions

But no–not one.

 

As yellow-queen descends

So your life fades away.

But by the next morning

There your lifeless body lay.

 

©Shadow

Memories

Holding the faded photograph

Of a moment I cannot recall

From a time long ago

Of when I was small.

 

As you clutched her in your arms

My face is turned from view

We all posed for a picture

But everyone looks blue.

 

What was it all about?

And why do we all look so sad?

Were you unhappy about,

The family you could of had?

 

We all had our secrets

Hidden behind our frowned face

But now, for the last time

I must leave this place.

 

It’s funny how

Bad memories are erased by years

And sometimes the mind creates good ones

From a time there were once tears.

 

©Shadow

In chains

My life spinning out of control

Feeling nothing but pain

Giving it all, body and soul

Locked up in these chains.

 

Feeling like I can’t break free

Not wanting to say good-bye

Eyes clouded, I cannot see

Always being high.

 

Living life day by day

Going through the motions

Slowly turning into clay

Engulfed with emotions.

 

Beginning to see the light

Giving me wings to fly

Always feeling in flight

Then taking away the sky.

©Shadow

Skull-picker

I look for skull-picker

Along the traveling way

After sun’s birth

Each and every day.

 

The mysterious blood-starling

Who mourns her own dead

And exchanges information

Nightly, before bed.

 

An intelligent one

Who captivates me

And caches her food

High up in the tree.

 

This one I adore

And hear her every day

I often find her

By the roadside buffet.

©Shadow

Kennings: skull-picker, blood starling= crow

What do you know about her?

Note:  I often use kennings in my poetry.  To help make this poem more understandable, I used the following kennings:

the fire of the sky=sun; swan of blood=raven; Thor’s laughter=thunder; weeping of clouds=rain

What do you know about her?

This one who loves to see

The fire of the sky

In the evening, alone with me.

 

What do you know about her?

The one who is intrigued by

The odd swan of blood

But know not what makes her cry.

 

Tell me what you know

Of what she likes to hear

Thor’s laughter in the distance

Music to the ear.

 

Tell me what you know

Of what she likes to smell

The weeping of clouds

Makes her emerge from her shell.

 

Tell me what you know

About all of her tears

Her lifelong problems

Of tantrums and fears.

 

Do you know this little girl?

Living down below

Deep in the shadows

Still in chains from long ago.

 

Who is this little girl?

Who learned to be an imposter

Never growing up

Still waiting for her well-being to foster.

©Shadow