Therapeutic Touch and Poetry

Both TT and poetry are about the unseen, the nuances below the surface of things. Many of us are not gifted enough to see the human energy field; yet, we interact with it constantly - and can learn to do so deliberately for the greater good. Poetry illustrates the unseen connections the outer world has to our inner processes - the greater meanings we derive that are not always apparent.

There is a transfer of energy in spoken word. The audience receives the resonance of the poetry, and the poet receives a wave of acknowledgement from the audience.

In Therapeutic Touch - and other forms of energy medicine - there is a transmission that occurs between practitioner and receiver.

It may be that the most honest interactions we have are the ones that we acknowledge involve a transfer of energy between individuals. We are not islands unto ourselves. Our very thoughts have an effect on the people around us.

We can be beacons of light, spreading joy and awakening to others, or we can be black holes, sucking energy from people and surroundings. Most of the time, we are somewhere in between, pulling energy or pushing it.

To truly have world peace, we must become peaceful within ourselves, neither pushing nor pulling energy, but gently radiating out the light, sharing it with our fellow beings.

The Existential Garden Path

Meditation is like walking down a garden path. At first, the path barely exists, and it's easy to get lost among the trees or distracted by flowers and birds. On occasion, you get caught on the thorns and spend a great deal of time trying to extricate yourself from entanglements of the mind.

Eventually, with practice, the path is established through use. It becomes easier to find one's way to the source. There comes a time when moments after sitting, one drops into that sought after state, not because it is sought, but because it is there - awaiting your presence.

The effortless effort has occurred. What else is there to do, but be?

Poem for the Environment

Having moved to a waterfront community, this poem arises out of my concern for the environment and the damage we are doing to it.

Warning Sign

walking the beach
the dog’s paws glancing off
awkward rocks
coated in old effluent

the lake is rank today
like a toilet in a long-abandoned house
whose offal was never flushed away

the seagull, I understand
felled with a death’s necklace
of plastic links

the goose
desiccated corpse
still crowned with lively plumage

I do not want to know
its reason for weakness
for being too ill
to join its comrades
on the journey south

a desolate death
on a dying shore
serves as a warning

I take the dog to the grass
to get clean

Bonita Summers © 2007

Migration

I do not think that I can bear
the migration of the geese this year

their absence measured
by lack of morning and afternoon flyovers
the silence blowing off the lake at night

one more thing leaving me

Digging the Dub

A phenomenal weekend in Toronto with the Dub Poets Collective! Warmly invited by Lillian Allen to perform as part of the Dub Poetry Series, a group of us from Kingston's Poetry & Company arrived in T.O. for a workshop and performance set for Saturday.

I made it down for the Friday night Open Mic only to be seduced by drums and song, drawing me into the state from where poetry flows freely. Not one to improvise on the spot, I took the leap, played a drum for the first time (thanks, Sonny), and learned that poetry composed to a beat is much easier to retain for later use. It also carries a hypnotic pull not always found with conventional poetic structure.

Ellington's Cafe was inspiring in its encouragement of the arts. Thanks, Winston, for providing such a great venue for writers, musicians, and performance artists to express and explore their art.

On the Saturday, Lillian and Peculiar I hosted a workshop that focused on grandmothers and whether poetry prepares us for life and death. The sharing that ensued had a cohesive quality to it, as we found commonalities in talking about our grandmothers and the deeper issue of passing out of human existence. Lillian closed by encouraging even the most reserved of us to create a sound to blend in harmony with other participants. Amazing how beautiful and effortless making music and poetry is when the natural, pre-existing beat is found - the heartbeat of the poetry, if you will.

There was an opportunity earlier in the day to attend the Small Press Book Fair. I waded among the tables, waist-high in the original thoughts of my comrades. I picked up a few books and magazines and received "The Word of Gord" (http://www.thewordofgord.com/).

Our hosts for the evening show, Peculiar I and Clifton Joseph, were fireballs of energetic inspiration, burning up the stage with their enthusiastic introductions. We could not have been more warmly welcomed. I came away from this weekend with a renewed desire to write, a fresh perspective on poetic structure, and an absolute need to buy a drum!

Much love to our friends with the Dub Poets Collective and Ellington's Cafe!

Bonita