Contemptuously conditioned to stuff extremely complicated subjects into tiny boxes. Hoarding what’s ours and hissing at anyone who questions, No, threatens! I don’t believe that some are tougher than others. Sensitivity is the nature of our species, Some of us are just better liars, Cloaking ourselves in more acceptable emotions like indifference, anger, annoyance. Because most of us have souls that fled somewhere in the early chaos, Leaving our hearts exposed to whatever change of wind life decides to blow.
It’s true that the body keeps count, And in this moment I was reminded. I was taught that lesson of how deep it efforts to keep us safe from what we can’t bare. And I suppose in this moment, Alone in the middle of Thailand, While being massaged by a sweet stranger, It was time to face the void. Silent and stiff, I watched the buried scenes of the seizure of me. And just as the heart pumps blood out and through every vein, I saw the poison of this event inject itself into my most innocent and hopeful powers. This is dissociation. What is time to healing? It simply doesn’t conform to our impossible standards. Because trauma has the ability to bend time, jumping forwards and backwards. I have to remind myself that there’s no limit to healing. There’s no magical pill or retreat or shaman that can McFix the complexities of our pain. And the delays that seem long and overplayed are merely it’s premeditated punctuality. I have to remind myself that this feeling, this dethawing, although at times uncomfortable, is a hell of a lot better than the paralysis.