The angel who rests in the arms of the tree

Frozen in place by the chill of the night
the snow angel rests in the arms of the tree.

Gazing at her I wondered
Is she cold like me?
Are her insides in knots?
Does she worry if the sun will release her so she can fly away free?

Then I noticed that she was relaxed
trusting in the strength of the tree.
She lay there, face open, aimed at the sky
soaking in the beams of the sun.

I internalized how mindfully this angel rests
knowing she is protected
by the deer, the fox, and the tiger
protective and kind
gentle yet fierce.

In an awakened instant
I understood
that although she is frozen by the chill of the night
this is her time to rest.

I knew that just like the intense springtime sun
relief is actively occurring
melting my gridlocked existence of powerlessness away.

I hear in the depth of my soul, “All will be okay, soon!”

Walking away I knew that the time to trust is now
that the freedom to fly is just a snow-melt away.

Turning back to the angel who rests in the arms of the tree
I thanked her
for the gift of hope
a moment of peace
of unveiled clarity.

I think I saw the light shine brighter on her upturned face…
or was it the light shining brighter on me?

©Alexis Rose, photo: Janet Rosauer

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph      

Advertisements

Her Present Needed Her Past

The door heaved open
exposing the dark, dusty gloom of the past.

Walking into each room
the light began to pour in
from all the love she feels in the present.

The past and the present began to live together.

Sometimes contentious, but with a newly learned respect.

Intuitively, she knew her present needed her past
so she could learn, change and grow.

As a new season begins
she holds hands with her past, lives in the present, and rests.

©Alexis Rose, photographer: Janet Rosauer

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph      

 

Plasticine Arms and Butterfly Wings

Made of wire
covered by plasticine
she moves through the world
with awkward grace.

For decades, inside the sturdy sculpture
sits the child; head down, hands wrapped around her knees
she begins to awaken.

The scar tissue that solidly formed
and held her in place
weakens and gives way.

Lifting her head
she unfurls her arms from her knees
and sees that translucent butterfly wings
have taken the place of limbs
that atrophied long ago.

On wobbly legs, the child stands
and breaks all but one of the sinewy tendrils that were holding her down.

Moving to the edge of the wire
she calls and gently flaps her wings
capturing the attention of the figure
made of wire.

Plasticine arms instintively
touch the spot where the dormant child
lived in dark solitude.

Both fear, and confusion begin to emanate
off the plastic arms and beautiful wings.

A sense of hope further weakens the wire
fueling the possibility of
wholeness, worthiness, and love.

Can the two become one?
Can the wire and plastic melt
into the flesh of humanness?

The child held down by that
last remaining chain
quietly sighs.

But, something has changed
There is a shift
and both the fearless child butterfly
and the awkwardly graceful plasticine adult
know that it is only a matter of time
before they are transformed and become one.

Like a phoenix, they will sit upon their tiger
let the hot sun melt away even more of yesterday’s pain
and live harmoniously, seamlessly, together as one.
©Alexis Rose, image source: Pixabay

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

 

Time to Press the Reset Button

When I react from a place fraught with anxiety
and heavy-leaden exhaustion.
When anger, frustration, and thick frenetic energy courses through
my body and mind, leaving me breathing hard, and tight as
if I had just run a marathon, top speed through
the seven gates of hell.
When I can’t stand to think, read, engage, or ground.
When that becomes my existence, my life, my scraggly mood than
I know that I need to press my Reset Button.
My Reset Button reminds me that I’m able:
To experience and not think
To listen and not speak
To allow time to play and laugh with glee
To rest and not judge
To connect with the trees, water, fire, and land
To leave worry and self-doubt behind
To Just Be
I just pressed the Reset Button…I can breathe!

©words and photo: Alexis Rose

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

The Paradox of Sharing

I watched a travel show the other day where the host went to a country where I had also visited. The show was fabulous and I was completely engaged. Although about five minutes into the episode I noticed that there was also a part of me that was thoughtfully activated. Although I was enjoying the repartee the host was having with the locals, an uneasy quiet settled deep inside because the memories of what happened to me, were the opposite of what was being shown on screen as a happy tourist destination. For sure, the places that he was promoting ARE  happy tourist destinations, they just weren’t for me. I was forced to travel to that location, and that experience forever changed how I view the world.

As I watched the episode, I felt validated that the places I had remembered going to were the places he was also visiting. I would say aloud, “I was there, and there, and There! It felt like a shared experience. Except that my experiences were dark and I met people who did not have my best interest at heart or people who looked through me as if I was invisible.

This had me thinking about the paradox of sharing. The definition that I’m using for my thought process is, A situation or thing that combines contradictory features or qualities. 

As a trauma survivor, we learn pretty quick what we can share and not share with our family and friends. I have always been of the mind, that this is absolutely healthy, and I want my support to have good healthy boundaries. I want to keep a semblance of “normalcy” in my everyday life. I definitely share, but only tell the most intimate and shocking parts of my trauma to my therapist. I have a therapist to help me process, accept, and teach me the tools to live with the effects of my trauma.

But, sometimes its hard to not be able to really participate in a conversation about a shared travel destination, holiday traditions, past birthdays, or just childhood observations. I have traveled to many, many places in my life. When someone talks about taking a tour of the swamps of the south, I may have also gone to the exact same region. I didn’t see Alligators peeking their eyes above the water, I experienced other things. Let me tell you, that if I share even a bit of what I experienced there, it is an instant conversation stopper.  Where I find myself enjoying the persons’ vacation tales, they wind up feeling uncomfortable that the underbelly of what people are capable of, is darkening the joy of a fun-in-the-sun travel destination. It’s a paradox when it comes to sharing.

Now I have had a plethora of really good, priceless, life-changing, wonderful experiences in my life that I can freely share and relate to my friends, family, and people on the street. I really don’t have a shortage of those at all. What has me thinking about this, is that sometimes when I’m having a conversation with someone about birthdays or family of origin traditions, I would like to share my experiences too. Not for shock value, but because they are my experiences. That is the extent of it. To me, I would sometimes like to say, Oh yeah, I remember when I was sixteen and …, but that is simply not an appropriate share. For me, it was just my life, for others it is gut-wrenching and heartbreaking. There have been many appropriate times and places that I have shared, but it is usually not in the middle of a lighthearted walk down memory lane.

This is simply my observation the last few days after watching that travel show. Survivors of trauma, just like people who live with chronic pain and illness learn to adapt. I do believe that people who are in a friendship/relationship want to hear other’s experiences. The responsibility is on us to navigate our lives and share our stories. It helps those close to us understand the lens we look at the world through, and why we may respond to things the way we do. I know that the feedback I get from people, is, “Oh that makes a lot of sense now!”

I wonder, as I write this, that maybe this paradox in sharing is just human nature. Our different life experiences and how we feel about them may be what determines whether we share or stay silent. Are we afraid of being a “Debby Downer?” Or are do we say, “Wow, well you know what happened to me on my birthdays every year?” I don’t know the answer. I’m not sure what most people do. I’m curious, what do you do?

Photo by Korney Violin on Unsplash

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

 

 

 

Always in our Hearts

As the rain gently falls
we remember those who are 
with us in our hearts.
They will always be a part of us.
With a silent prayer, we honor
their heart, their soul, their essence
by tending to the flowers in the earth.

©Alexis Rose, image source: Pixabay

 

Thank you for reading my books: If I Could Tell You How It Feels, and Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph    

 

 

 

The Woman Sitting in the Dark

Who is that woman sitting in the dark?

A mom, wife, friend

She is a survivor.

A reader, writer, hiker, dreamer

She is struggling.

A hopeful, helpful, optimistic. compassionate light

She is too weary to turn on the lights
or care about the monsters in her dreams.

A woman who works tirelessly to embrace her life
live in the truth, recognize joy. 

Where did she go? 

That’s her, over there, sitting in the dark.

Waiting…just waiting for the light of dawn.

sorrow-699608_960_720

Thank you for reading my books:  If I Could Tell You How It Feels,  and  Untangled, A Story of Resilience, Courage, and Triumph

image source: Pixabay