icnmgrjill
01-06-2007, 02:17 PM
Folks... this incredible, staggering, powerful and magical poem was written by a friend of mine from many years ago.. Jennifer Yarbro-Black.. who helped me start the IC-Redwood Empire support group years ago with Evelyn White. When she wrote this poem, I was so touched that I've never forgotten it. I've just added it yet again to our upcoming pain journal... but I thought I'd share it with you. I think it says it all... acknowledge the pain... acknowledge the anger and feelings you have... but then use it. You can use it to change your life. She did!
How To Survive A Diagnosis of IC
A poem by Jennifer Yarbro Black
Scream your validation to the Heavens: Ha! You doubting universe. I told you I had a real deep down, burning, screeching, in-the body pain. I told you plainly in your starry ear, and you brushed me off like a stray hair! Ha! You incompetent doctors, know-it-all mothers, whispering friends, and scowling bosses. I was right all along. Are you listening? I have a real deep down, burning, screeching, in-the-body pain and now I know its name. Ha! …. And when the fluttering of wings in your raging, righteous heart begins to settle to an eerie calm, breathe deep and…
Scream your injustice to the Sea. Tear your hair out in your hands. Run bare-skinned through the scorching sands. Rub salt into the gaping wound. Cry traitor to that watery womb of life and death: Why have you cast me from your breast? Why these cruel and ceaseless waves of pain? Repeat this chorus again and again until it fades under the rhythmic pounding of the waves, into the sweet report of non-sense, then….
Scream your anger to the Earth that fell away beneath your feet: Why did you stand back in horror, my sister/brother/lover/friend as I was spiraling, wildly to the ground? Why couldn’t you hold and help and stop the pain? Why wouldn’t you lay your soul in the fresh-made grave that tugged so hungrily at my legs? And why didn’t I, who knew it best of all, have the sense to you “Help! I am falling, and I need you to catch me.”
And when you are finished screaming (don’t stop too soon), it is time to start speaking. To the Fire that consumes you. Know it well. See it for the curse it is, but also for the gifts it brings. Fire purifies. Out of the ruins of your life will rise the spires of your truths. Seek out these smoldering truths. Follow every path that hints at healing. Use all your tools. Plant the fruit, spin the clay, raise the brush, and scatter the ink across the page. Use the Fire as food, and it will deliver you.
© 1994 Jennifer Yarbro-Black
How To Survive A Diagnosis of IC
A poem by Jennifer Yarbro Black
Scream your validation to the Heavens: Ha! You doubting universe. I told you I had a real deep down, burning, screeching, in-the body pain. I told you plainly in your starry ear, and you brushed me off like a stray hair! Ha! You incompetent doctors, know-it-all mothers, whispering friends, and scowling bosses. I was right all along. Are you listening? I have a real deep down, burning, screeching, in-the-body pain and now I know its name. Ha! …. And when the fluttering of wings in your raging, righteous heart begins to settle to an eerie calm, breathe deep and…
Scream your injustice to the Sea. Tear your hair out in your hands. Run bare-skinned through the scorching sands. Rub salt into the gaping wound. Cry traitor to that watery womb of life and death: Why have you cast me from your breast? Why these cruel and ceaseless waves of pain? Repeat this chorus again and again until it fades under the rhythmic pounding of the waves, into the sweet report of non-sense, then….
Scream your anger to the Earth that fell away beneath your feet: Why did you stand back in horror, my sister/brother/lover/friend as I was spiraling, wildly to the ground? Why couldn’t you hold and help and stop the pain? Why wouldn’t you lay your soul in the fresh-made grave that tugged so hungrily at my legs? And why didn’t I, who knew it best of all, have the sense to you “Help! I am falling, and I need you to catch me.”
And when you are finished screaming (don’t stop too soon), it is time to start speaking. To the Fire that consumes you. Know it well. See it for the curse it is, but also for the gifts it brings. Fire purifies. Out of the ruins of your life will rise the spires of your truths. Seek out these smoldering truths. Follow every path that hints at healing. Use all your tools. Plant the fruit, spin the clay, raise the brush, and scatter the ink across the page. Use the Fire as food, and it will deliver you.
© 1994 Jennifer Yarbro-Black