Free to Be Me

My blog was partly prompted by an affirmation by Louise Hay from Heal Your Body: “My mind is gentle and powerful. I love and approve of myself. I am free to be me.” It is the last sentence that especially resonates. Free to be me. Free to make mistakes or mis-steps. Free to learn as I go, not have to know it all. Free to forgive and let go of judgment, silence the harsh, critical voice.

This week I was late to an appointment. It was a long distance, driving in a fog and torrential downpour, with thunder, lightening and small hail. (The second-most rain in Chicago in February in 138 years, the equivalent of 20 inches of snow!) I worked on conscious deep breathing and tried not to look at the clock. By the time I arrived I was mad at myself, mildly berating myself that I had not left home earlier, etc. Not as extreme as in the past, but not happy or calm. Worried that the chiropractor (a delightful woman) would be ticked off, disappointed in me, not able to see me, etc. I don’t think any of this showed on my outside, I tried to laugh it off, though I probably seemed somewhat stressed. (The first time I was late I had driven 2 hours through a blizzard for a 40-minute drive.) We joked that there seemed to be something weird about the weather on the Thursdays I was coming.Yet it all worked out. The person before me had more time for her appointment, which she needed, and the woman scheduled after me had cancelled, leaving me a good amount of time for my appointment. When I think I have quieted my inner critical judge, circumstances arise that show me that harsh voice can still be provoked. And then forgiveness, and humor, and moving on…

Every poem I write is different, its own entity. Over almost 14 years of writing my poetic journal, my writing has changed a lot. My writing voice has developed and matured (I like to think). Something about this poem is different, maybe more revealing or something. I realized I was holding back, not wanting to reveal too much. This is a poem I have been reading to people (including my chiropractor) and I wanted to let it go, not hold back.


Floating On Sitar Notes and Drum Beats

(dinner at The Peacock on Valentine’s)

So much done to the body.
So much stored in the body.

The body a map of the past,
the snake entwined around Eve.

The body: the sitar, the lotus, the onion,
the pond to swim in, and the fish swimming.

The foam in the cup,
the gyrations of dance,

the main course,
not so much dessert.

The color red as it
plays on the water,

the helium balloon,
the red rubber ball,

the accelerating rhythm,
the glint on sheer glass,

baby’s breath and
tiny ruby carnations.

It is amplified,
it is sober and still,

plays well with others,
puts dirty feet on the table.

The body is the flying horse,
the sparkle on new snow,

it is a glass full
and a glass empty.

It is payment for services,
it is the nourishment taken in,

it is the pen and the words
and the hopefulness.

It is less like soap
and more like anise seeds,

more a home, than a prison.

Margaret Dubay Mikus
© 2009

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