• Poetry

    The Light Is Constant

    To be honest, in this line of work it often feels like I am on cloud nine, excited to step up on center stage to share something new with the world that will improve people’s lives, only to be booed off stage.  Logically I can see that there are many people in the world cheering me on.  But the people who boo also tend to yell louder, throw chairs, sabotage the stage set and do anything they can to discourage me from being brave enough to show my face.  It is finally getting through to me that while I create this reality called my life, it is simultaneously true that I cannot control my reality.  I cannot control what people do and I cannot control all the conditions of life so that pain never reaches me.  I cannot live my life to avoid discomfort.  And so, I took my own advice and I let myself surrender to the angst today.  As a result, I felt inspired to write a poem about the experience…

    Where Is Teal?

    I was fifteen years old.  It was 2:00 am.  Like usual, I had insomnia.  The rest of the house was asleep.  They knew ‘something was wrong with me’.  I had been cutting myself for years by then and at this point; no one knew what to do with me.  My only friend lived in another state.  I was lucky to see her once a year.  I was ‘different’.  I had painted my walls dark blue, with violent light blue splashes flung across them.  I listened to Sarah McLachlan on repeat.  I was so sensitive that I felt my connection with all life.  I felt the cruelty of unconsciousness in the world and the damage it was doing, but could not name it yet as the monster I was up against.  I dreamed of what it was like to die.  By that point, I had figured out every way I could kill myself if I ever made the choice.  I was living a double life.  I did not relate to anyone.  I had no sense of belonging.  I felt like I lived my life behind a prison of glass, where I could see out and no one could see in.  It was like being in my own personal hell.  The sense of aloneness was so thick; it crushed its way through my bone marrow.  The emptiness and absence in that feeling was like a poison.  I needed to get out of it or I needed to get it out of me.  I was alone in the silence of the house that night.  I took out my pen and I wrote because there was no other way to bleed myself of that feeling, save cutting, which I was desperate to stop.  I wrote about this isolated hell inside myself…


    A poem Teal wrote about the nature of oneness and fragmentation within the universe. 

    Only Love

    A poem Teal wrote about integration, which is realized through love, being the only way to end the war between good and evil.