Monday, May 25, 2015

Pentacost




Let
flames
descend,
lending earth
their fierce gravity.
Dust is raised up above the air,
upending the elemental powers of the world.
Those born of water
find their tongues
remade
as
fire.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Trigger warning: trigger warnings

It's only fair to warn you at the outset that this post may trigger... something or other. I'm not sure why trigger warnings have provoked such an intense response, but it's worth acknowledging that they have. If you don't think you can handle reading about trigger warnings, feel free to skip this post.  ;)

But now that I've warned you, I'm going to go right ahead and talk about them, because the point of trigger warnings isn't to avoid talking about painful subjects, but to talk about them with courtesy and intentionality.

The phrase "trigger warning" was popularized in those corners of the blogosphere where trauma survivors gather together to process. Those blogs exist precisely because it's important to talk about trauma, because you can't really heal if you always avoid the painful subjects.

Handling intense emotions is a learned skill, though, and sometimes it takes a lot of practice to get it right. Moreover, it takes the right kind of practice, and that's why trigger warnings matter.

As my wise flute teacher told me, and as I tell my own students now, practice doesn't actually make perfect. Practice makes permanent. Practicing scales at breakneck speed with sloppy technique does more harm than good. It's practicing, yes, but it's practicing playing badly.

In the same way, exposure to triggers can be an important part of recovery, but it's only helpful if we're prepared to practice well.

If you warn us first, then we can use it as an opportunity to practice all the awesome skills we learned in therapy. But you aren't doing us any favors by blindsiding us with unexpectedly graphic material, because without a warning, we might end up simply drowning in our memories all over again, or we might end up practicing whatever destructive coping mechanisms come automatically.

We don't need to avoid our pain, we need to channel it in productive and life-giving directions. We need to talk about hard things, and we need to read the great books that hurt. But we need to do it carefully, intentionally, and at the right time.

Which means we need trigger warnings.

It doesn't have to be disruptive. I remember my professors doing this sort of thing automatically, not because of any policy, but because they genuinely cared about their students. Far from sabotaging our education, their compassion helped us feel safe enough to engage with the material on a rigorous level.

A trigger warning policy is a poor substitute for that kind of real concern, but at least it's a step in the right direction.

Saturday, May 16, 2015

We
laughed
until
the tears rolled
over to anger,
disbelief, sorrow, and regret.
We would not laugh now.
It's funny
the way
we
change.



Friday, May 15, 2015

I've 
been
limping
all day long.
Each step reminds me
of the emptiness that you left
behind when you ripped
the sole right
out of
my
boot.

Wednesday, May 13, 2015

With writer's block for a pillow...



Some
where
between
here and there
you will hit a block.
You might trip, get a concussion,
but lay your head upon it gently, and you may find
an Ebenezer, a heavenly stair
up which you may limp,
a cornerstone
on which
to
build.


Monday, May 11, 2015

Some say, without exception, that weasel
words are unambiguously bad.
This is somewhat like painter taking care to keep his easel
free of nuanced color. It makes me sad.
I won't call them the writers of the green
book, since it seems likely they'd prefer
pure blue or yellow. Fair enough. I've seen
little lovelier than daffodils and sky, yet there were
always in such scenes some subtler hues.
On this, I will not equivocate or hedge.
I use weasel words, and will defend much of their use.
Regardless of who does it, it's a travesty to wedge
the dappled truth into some simple view
without a word of warning when you do.

Sunday, May 10, 2015

Shall
compare
a summer's
day to anything?
This is Houston. I would not damn
my enemy's dog with such praise, faint as the panting
breeze that barely ruffles the hot
wet blanket of air
draped over
us like
damp
fur.