Medusa Poetry Slam

Seeking Medusa
(poetry slam version)

I want to see monstrous Medusa.

I want to see her as Gorgon.

I want to see her full-lipped and full-hipped.

I want to see her,
I want to see Her!

I search for her.
Images, renderings, and statues abound,
What I see is Barbie™ Medusa,
I see how the patriarchy sees.

Even a goddess,
in order to be seen!
to be worshipped!
to have place on the altar!
Must look Just So.
Body of Hollywood beauty,
Fair of face,
where only the hair can be writhing,
Reminiscent of orgasmic tussle to succumbing.

I want to see Medusa of olde!

I want her face large!
unbecoming!
Twisted in rage!

I want full mouth keening with despair,
as distorted eyes pop her stony gaze.

I want Medusa,
in all her monstrous glory.
I want Medusa as is.

When I do glimpse her monstrous –
Gorgon face contorted,
full of power
and blazing eyes –
Her bloody head hangs from Perseus’ hand.

Message received.

I want to see Medusa!
Repulsed and repulsive!
Raw power of monster
In modern day.

I honour unsightly Medusa!

Not Disney™ Medusa,

Not Medusa thru the male gaze.

I want to see Medusa!
In all her monstrosity…

So I may be seen in all of mine.

~Boneweaver/Pamela V Jones ©2016

Impact and obliviousness

It’s been an interesting 24 hours. I have spent decades underestimating my impact in various spheres of my life. I never fail to “dog head” when my oblivion is brought to my attention. Like, wut?

It has now hit the level of embarrassing. In efforts to keep my ego in check I have put on blinders, and as beloveds shifted away, I thought I spoke into a vacuum. What and how I expressed myself mattered little, I surmised, ignoring that all of us have impact larger than our awareness.

I have been purposely removing those blinders and paying attention in my offline life for about 4 months and with a concerted effort starting 2 1/2 months ago. (Yes, I know the exact date I moved from “things take time” to “START NOW”.) It hasn’t yet bled over to my online life.

In the last 24 hours I’ve been having front-and-center plus behind-the-scenes conversations with a number of folks ~ their impressions of how I present myself online consist of a gamut of viewpoints, covering a great range, but a couple of core things overlap.  It has been fascinating, in the best sense of that word.

What I do know is that my online self used to be a really close match to my offline self, and the chasm between the two has grown. (There are a hundred reasons for it, but none matter to the point I’m writing about.) I started righting that with the magical turn of the calendar page, but it is a slow process, with backslides. Time is the only proof that will show it, so you’ll just have to trust me. Or not. Your choice.

Here on this blog is mostly Boneweaver, keeper of the Dead, chronicler of the learnings and foibles of walking my spiritual path. Other venues have seen SJ PJ, *rawr*ing up a storm. Neither of those is all of me. Both of those are not all of me. (Never will *all* of me be out there. C’mon, I’m pretty open, but I keep more than half of me to myself.)

I desire to pull the edges of that chasm closer together. I don’t wish to eliminate the chasm – the abyss in the center is where the Mystery lies – but I wish to move back to where when I met someone offline who had known me only online they would say, “You’re just as I thought! Except nicer.” (What can I say, text reflects me harshly. I try not to use too many extra words. *looks at length of post* I have really edited this down from what’s in my head – I swear!)

I wish to reflect more of me in all of my online spaces. Compartmentalization of me has not been good for me, and as I have impact with what I choose to put out in the world, it has not been good for others, either.

One thing that I am just getting brave enough to put out here is the art I do. I don’t often see myself as courageous, but with my art, every post is a steeled-nerve act of bravery. I’m taking lessons from someone who has been refining her skill for decades. They are donation-gratefully-accepted-free lessons through Facebook. You can find the first lesson HERE. It is my gift to myself, conquering the fear and rewriting the old story that I can only art in abstract because the skill of realism died with my father.

And now it’s your turn — what would you like to see more of from me? I really am interested to know.

(And I’m going to hit publish before I chicken out, so read through the typos, please.)

And Now We Begin!

The world returns to routine today, the Monday after the holiday. Even if you work retail or health care where the places never close, energy moves underneath on the first workday back. Even for me, stretching through retirement.

I have PLANS for this year! I have repurposed a journal, I have committed to a thing, and an other thing. I have a loose list of more other things (because tight makes me procrastinate). Already, in day four, I feel the lightness in my body of returning to Joy.

I’m not going to write all of my plans. I’m keeping ego in check and not seeking outside affirmation, therefore I am not listing All The Things in one public post. Because when I listened to the impulse to do so, it was all about ego and not about accountability. Other folks will hold themselves accountable by public proclamations – my history suggests it doesn’t work that way for me. Heh.

Depending on where we are connected, you will see evidence of the things. If we’re deeply connected, you will know of all of the things. If we’re not deeply connected I am guessing it is safe to say you don’t give a hoot about all of my things and that is a-ok and as it should be.


Next topic:

Winter came today. I am not a fan. I get cold easily. Even with the hot flashes – irony to the 10th power, as bodies are weird and live on a scale of “1 to neener-neener” – I get very chilled. And yet!! When I saw the snow lying on the ground and felt the snap of cold air as I let the dog out this morning, something in me shifted and sighed “at last”. Having lived my life thus far in a place with 4 very distinct seasons, my soul has arranged itself to know things according these seasonal shifts.

I arose 1-2 hours earlier than I have for the last month. This is good. This is how I want it to be. I want my days to stretch with possibilities. I desire length to linger in them.

Hail winter! Welcome back.

 

*bounce bounce bounce*

Looooooooooook out Detroit, the Duo hooks up again! 😀

Tomorrow I’m off to visit my Cousin By Spirit™ in the grand state of Michigan! MontiLee, whom I call Penda, is my friend, a horror author, and a kickass fellow practioner.

For those in the Metro Detroit area you can hear MontiLee read one of her pieces at The Scarab Club tomorrow night at 7 p.m. Fellow authors and members of The Great Lakes Association of Horror Writers will be there, too. Be there or Beware!

I and the hubster plan on having a fabulous time for a few days with Penda and her husband Doug, and their 2 cats!

A New Year Poem

As I posted elsewhere, my mum always said that whatever you do on New Year Day you do for the rest of the year. This year I tried to plan more for desires than do-not-wants (such as laundry, which she cautioned against every year). My list for yesterday was reading, writing, art, divination, Netflix, nap, Tai Chi, and tasty food for dinner. I got in all except the nap. Perhaps I won’t need them in 2015!

Anyway, I wrote two poems, one for New Year and one is a morning prayer (to be sung) using words from “The Flower Prayer” and adding others. I’m sharing the New Year one here:

It’s a new year
marked by a new day,
people cheer and make promises
they never really intend to keep;
which seems like a lie, but really,
it is an unveiling of truth.

Everyone knows there is nothing new

about the day or year;
it is same as the last,
though hearts beat a bit weaker,
kidneys slow a hair,
gallbladders churn a tad differently;
and knee-skin sags
along with the corners of our eyes.

Our floors creak louder
and the dogs bark softer;
trunks thicken
of both trees and man,
but the sky looks the same
and the earth turns on her same course
’round the sun.

We celebrate anyway,
this oldnew dayyear,
we celebrate, not because we must
but because we can;
and in the brief time between
the stroke of midnight and January 7th
we are filled with hope,
and promise,
and whispering joy.

Life returns to what it is,
same as what it was,
and we plod through ten months
until we start to think again,

about the soon-to-be-new year

(just like the old year)
and the familiar tingle takes hold,
the mirage of change
in new habits
that we know will fall away.

Yet we are content with that,
as our kneecaps loosen
in their skin-clothes,
the dogs bark in breathy tones,
our hearts skip a beat
as we walk the stairs to bed,
full of only the future,
and pretending for a week,
that the past is wholly other
from the now.

Jan 1, 2015 ©Pamela V Jones