After this weekends workshop I was ready to pour my heart out and share. I even shared with someone that in day one of the workshop I had at least 5 blog topics. So it really wasn’t surprising that my attempt to write one blog from this past weekend didn’t work. I wrote and wrote and read it back to myself over and over and it just didn’t flow.
So I sent it to a friend and she had a few things to say about it. She said I had multiple blogs in this one stream of thought and that I should go over each paragraph and see what “Learnings or lessons” I see emerging. Then just post one every other day or once a week, however I want. It’s funny that I had convinced myself that I couldn’t change the process of how I wrote. So I did a little research today and looked up “Stream of Consciousness” and there are methods to do this in writing. This is some exciting stuff, it’s like the sleepy brain cells were now awake and interested in this new piece of info. Anyway, until I learn more on where this subject leads me I’ll just be excited about learning something useful today and take the advice I was given.
I’ll be calling the next series of blogs “Stream of Thought | Part…”. These will be either be short stories or Poems with audio attached. I would like to let you in my head piece by piece with what I experienced during my first Connections workshop.
Stream of Thought | Part One: In My Creative Soul
Scene: On stage as a spoken word piece
Hey, I move forward, lower my my hands and bow my head for a moment. Take it all in, prepare myself.
HI! I’m a little louder, more direct as I stare at this invisible figure in front of me. Trying to sound cheerful; kind of.
HI DAD! I know you’re really not here but I have a few things to say to you.
(SEE MY DAD IS STILL ALIVE BUT I DECIDED HE WAS TOO TOXIC TO CONTINUE TO HAVE IN MY LIFE)
So here we go.
Hi dad, You taught me everything I know, from carpentry, to art, to sewing, to defending myself.
When I think about you in my early childhood years, most of my memories are good.
I don’t really remember mom’s stories of you hanging me upside down over the balcony ledge,
or throwing my crib out the window as a statement that I could have been in it,
or that your love for me could so easily be tossed aside.
I definitely didn’t remember the clouds of marijuana that was blown in my face daily at the age of five,
So how could I connect it to the allergy i felt against weed my entire adult life.
You did connect me to my creativity at such an early age, so I’m extremely grateful for that.
But now I’m all grown up, fucked up, grown up, and fucked up.
I remember writing that letter to the judge on your behalf for early parole.
Getting you a suit and shoes because I wanted you to feel good when we picked you up from prison.
This was our time to make up for lost time,
it had been 10 years since since I’ve seen your face outside of these brick walls.
So why would you treat me like you did back then.
I took you in, I think I parented you because that’s all knew.
But I was now struggling.
My life and my business were turned inside out,
I remember sitting on a chair in the kitchen for days unable to move from my addiction,
and you stepped over me day after day; silent.
I’m sure i was waiting for my dad to come save me.
But with each pass it felt like smoke blown in my face,
that the cribbed was tossed out the window once again.
So I had to find my way out, I found my village and when I was ready,
I let you go.
But really how can I say bye,
when all I see in everything I create is you.
You taught me what I know.
I look and my hands and my feet, the way stand, my muscular fit; I see you.
You run through my creative soul,
you were my teacher.
So I sit here and I ask,
How do I let you go? and,
How could you love and hate a being so much?
How did you teach me to do the same?
This piece was actually done with a lot more intensity during one of our exercises on day one. I don’t think I can recreate what happened to me there but the experience was incredible. Standing in the center of a circle of people having this conversation with my stand in dad seemed fake the first 15 seconds, but then something happened. I really felt I was talking to him, I no longer noticed the people in the room. I realized I was grieving and angry, at the end I was asked if I wanted to give him a hug and I couldn’t. I just needed to say my peace.
As always, thank you for everyone’s support and encouragement.
Mucho Love, Jamie
Here are a few links I’d like to share:
Check out the Terry Lige page and go to Programs and Connections to get an idea of the workshop I took. This one was catered I believed towards recovery but not by much.
My Friends at Kembali Recovery Center are doing some amazing things here in Bali. If you know someone that needs help or just want to to know more about their programs, give them a shout.
And the thing I will now be doing lots of research on and improving on is “Stream of Consciousness in Writing”, because a spark happened, an interest in something developed.
Here’s a few Youtube video’s I found interesting: