~ The Art Of Change ~ with Carol Omer ~

Art and Creativity as Mediums for Empowerment , Connection and Change…

Archive for the ‘Chaos’ Category

Ode to the Rescuer

Posted by carolom on September 15, 2016

*Updated
This poem is dedicated to the many women, especially those who I meet in domestic violence shelters, who really do believe:

If I just keep on loving him, he will change & we will have the relationship that I know is possible…

DSC_0070

We hear the words “I thought he would change” so often inside of the walls of domestic violence shelters that I created the following dramatisation for our Talking circle so that the group of women who have sometimes had 2 or 3 relationships with violent men, could begin to unravel what keeps them there and how to recognise the pattern.

The following piece is not relevant for all women who leave domestic violence, but for those women who sit in support groups and say “I believed him when he said he would change” and “He is a really nice guy, he just had a rotten childhood”, this piece is for you.
And for Janet who was killed in domestic violence by a man who then killed himself, leaving four beautiful children behind.

Ode to the Rescuer:

There was something very appealing about his pain, it matched her pattern perfectly
and her pattern goes like this:

Give me a damaged man with potential and I will embrace him as my life mission
My personal quest!

I will claim myself to be his Rescuer and through my eyes he will see how sorely he has been denied Love

And with the love of this Good Woman, he will heal!

He will heal
He will heal
He will heal

With the peace of mind that I alone have brought to him, delivered to him on a sincere heart that pulses with conviction, his heart shall finally, after many troubled years finally beat with contentment in symbiotic rhythm with my own

Ahh..this future memory brings tears to my eyes and reminds me to be patient and the reward will come.
Of this truth I have created, I am sure.
He will change
He will change
He will change
I shall interpret his moodiness as poetic brooding,
his sarcasm as merely the shadow of his enormous artistic sensitivities and
his broken promises as the unfortunate repercussions of a busy, preoccupied man.
I shall deny myself my heart’s desires,
less they place too much of a burden on his already busy mind.
I shall desperately seduce him into security with words thinly veiled
with the false reassurance that I want nothing of him
After all he is the broken one
Not me!
I will prove to him that I am the one single woman
on this Earth who can heal his troubled Soul.
Because I believe in him like no other has in the past
or could possibly at any time in the future
As the rescue program gets under way I will slowly begin to allow
the duality of the situation to come to the fore
Actually I won’t have a choice!
Having ensnared him with my rescuers net
or having fallen into his
I shall wrestle with the duality of being drawn to his charismatic withdrawals
whilst also experiencing an awakening awareness
that he is indeed mirroring my own need to heal and rescue the wounded heart.
There is something painfully seductive about that wounded heart after all it’s in all of the fairytales and rom-com’s isn’t it?
Love that Beast fair Beauty for he will come good in the end!
In order to ignore the needs of my own hopeful
desperate
optimistic
aching
wounded heart
I will plunge into my rescuing role with paradox and passion
for I am drawn to the angst of tortured feelings
which I have misconstrued as Romance and Love
as haplessly as he is drawn to his broody silences
and the acidic observations he casts out to bait me every now and then.
And quite regularly at times.
And yes. He has hit me in the past but the degree to which he is so truly deeply sorry overwhlems me with compassion for him.
Every time.
Every single time.
Except the last three times when I only felt fear and loathing,
But I got over that!
Didn’t I?
Didn’t I?

or Did !?

Words that forge our bond like who else would put up with you or me and
we were meant for one another, we are as bad as each other
will be the hypnotic sound track of the saga of our co-dependence

He will be my co-star as my life unfolds according to the stories I believe
Stories that I have created, many that have piggy backed onto the romantic tales of how the good girl transforms the bad boy with exquisite mastery and tears.
Fictional stories that I will defend as
Love!

Alas it is a tired old script with no surprises in the Story whatsoever!

but it will take me a long time to understand that
to reinterpret and rewrite the lead roles
because most of this is new to me!

And I am a stranger to myself.

Indeed aren’t we all until we remember who we really are?

Therefore I will need quite some time to realise any of this
as this predictable Olde Story unfolds on a roller coaster of
drama and desire
yearning and conflict

Those old scenarios and inevitable cycles replaying themselves in the guise of Love.

Love?

No this is just unlearnt lessons in re-enactment!
I will come to realise this one day
though I do not know that yet of course!

Although my heart does skip a beat when he looks at me in that certain seductive kind of way
Surely that must be Love?

Though you may well think I am making a banquet from a few crumbs of moments of hard earned intimacy
You are wrong of course!
Wrong
Wrong
Wrong

I know this banquet will be rich in the fruits of my desires so long as I am patient.
I will be Patient
will be Patient
will be Patient

My mantras give my life meaning and hope
They really do
Really really they do.

In the meantime I will deny that the toxins of this relationship are causing me great harm.
Souring my naiveté.
Poisoning the sweetness of my illusions whilst I continue to defend his lack of friendliness and warmth as justified

The increasing violence as a sign
that his love for me is so much he can barely handle the intensity!
I understand that and why he is violent
on account of the awful things he went through as a child.
The unresolved issues with his difficult father
The conflict with his troubled mother

There was just so much trouble that went into creating his troubled life
that I share

I am perhaps the only one who really knows that
and understands him and LOVES him
The only one

The lonely one

BUT

Love will conquer all. I think I am sure of that!

There is only one fixed rule in all of this apparent uncertainty
And this the rule I made and now obey:
I must Love him no matter how hard he is to Love.

I will Love him unconditionally
will Love him unconditionally
will Love him unconditionally

This one rule will make it all wonderful one day because

He will open up
He will open up
He will open up

Ultimately of course I will deny myself the right to move forward, to reach my fullest potential because I will be anchored defiantly to our co-dependence and staunchly courageously

desperately

refer to it as
Love!

This is what I know Love to be.

The End

I dedicate this to my lifelong friend Janet 1959 -2001 who was killed by her husband who then killed himself.

Your life mattered Janet, your stories are important to be told. I miss you dearly my friend.

Carol Omer
Certified Life Coach
Author of The Big Girls Little Coloring Book
Advertisements

Posted in Change, Chaos, Childhood, Co-dependence, Denial, Domestic Violence, Drama, Fear, Journeys, Letting go, Lifes Stories, Love, Men and Women, Poetry, Relationships, Sisterhood, Transformation, Unrequited Love, Wisdom, Women | 9 Comments »

It is White Ribbon Week. A poetic tribute to Resilience.

Posted by carolom on November 23, 2015

The Flashing Light

Saturday night and an empty dance floor

a flashing, aging disco light and desperately loud music

that pulsated a false promise of a fabulous time ahead.

In he walked with three loud and noisy friends

Handsome Hunk. That was her very first thought.

It was love at first sight!

At least it was for Grace, who would say many times in the coming weeks
He is my knight in shining armour, my love and light, my new best friend

 

The seeds of the kind of crazy making chaos

that had begun by date number five

were planted at a time when other suitor-seeking-women were travelling joyously

in four wheel drive chariots and on shiny motorbikes

that roared with the sound of it’s so good to be alive!

 

The first time he shoved her into the wall

she was holding their brand new baby girl

By the time their fourth child arrived her friends were chanting a mantra

that made Grace’s ears burn and her heart race:

Why don’t you leave him?

Surely you don’t still believe him?

What are those bruises on your face?

 

Cupid’s arrow had shattered into dangerous shards

that she now slept on in a bed of nails

but she didn’t tell her friends that of course

She was already grief stricken that baby number four

was not a union of love and light

but a creation of forced submission after an evening of fear and fright

Grace had to ignore her friends to keep herself from going mad.
How did she go from the disco floor to being kidnapped into confusion

amidst the a landscape of a romantic illusion

that transported the once light spirited, optimistic, amazing Grace

into the place of fright and loathing?

No longer did she laugh when he said, you are my pussycat!
Truth be known she had learnt to protect her children

by placing herself in the jaws of the fierce lion

all the while feeling like a vulnerable, scaredy cat.

One day in the supermarket, surrounded by her tribe of children,

lead by the dangerous man with the vituperative tongue,

a woman with a tray of pomegranate samplers approached Grace
The woman smiled brightly, her gaze fixed upon Grace tightly

Try this one it’s delicious, she said
and then whispered urgently

Leave him or he will kill you –you deserve better than this!


Grace stood dumbfounded that this pomegranate wielding stranger

this once terrorised sister, had sensed her present danger

 

Something changed for Grace that day

though it didn’t happen straight away

Within six turns of the full moon her children and beloved pets

had escaped and were now living in a shelter house

a place where the walls were light and fresh, with fences high

They were safe!

It took a Village to rescue Grace from the illusion

that was cast that night under the flashing dance floor light

In the words of the police officer

who attended that very last incident that Grace had to endure

You were lucky to get away

But we know that Grace was brave, it was not a matter of luck at all!

Flourish and Nourish

Posted in Chaos, Domestic Violence, Family, Fear, Lifes Stories, Uncategorized | Leave a Comment »

I LOVE books…so this was such a great sight!

Posted by carolom on August 5, 2008

I was born into a book loving family…which is very fortunate as my parents were born into the low-to-no-opportunities of a northern English factory town where education often stopped very early in life and menial work began.
Neither of my parents had the opportunity for higher education but that did not stop them from reading, learning, reading, learning…and passing on the passion for books to us..crossword puzzles, scrabble, big books, small books……libraries are a big part of our families external life!..:)

On the weekend Sal and I went to the markets at the Port Adelaide docks and as we strolled around the second level of these big old converted wharf sheds…this is what we saw.

A higgldy-piggldy mass of books, books, books…with such chaotic order, that I am sure some of those books on the bootom are never viewed, because their sole purpose is to hold up the pile!

Posted in Books, Chaos, Fun, Stories | 2 Comments »

Drama Detox Unit open for Business…

Posted by carolom on May 31, 2008

DRAMA DE-TOX UNIT

A Cautionary Tale Dedicated to the recovering Dramaholic in all of us….well many of us. This is a fictionally true transcript from Dramaholics Anonymous, held at a venue ~ and a venyou ~ nearby.

*******

Trouble ~ “Hi my name is Trouble and I am a Dramaholic.

Person A ~ Hi Trouble”
Person B ~  “Welcome Trouble”
Person C ~ Just nods head slightly…doesn’t like to welcome Trouble anymore

Group Leader: “Welcome Trouble. It is so good you have decided to come along and we’d appreciate it if you would tell us a bit about yourself”

Trouble: “Well I was born into Trouble. My mama was a Drama Queen and my daddy was nowhere to be found.
Mama modelled Drama to us kids very well.

She taught us to always pick the wrong kind of guy, make sure there was lots of chaos in our life before getting rid of him and then go out and find another one and get on with the whole dang thing again!. Now I look for trouble and draaama everywhere and in everything people say and do. And I sure am good at finding it!

Person A~ Praise the Lord I think we had the same mama
Person B~ Heavens above…I think I might be your mama
Person C~ silence….no longer even looks Trouble in the eye…

Group Leader:  “So what has made you decide to come to Dramaholics Anon and apply to stay in the Draaaama Detox Unit Trouble?”

Trouble:    “Well there I was in the midst of wagging my finger at yet another person who seemed to just want to make my life more complicated..my latest boyfriend who proved to be just like the last three …and all of a suddenI looked up and saw my mama standing there in front of me”

Group Leader:   “Why was this a problem”?

Trouble:   “Well she has been dead for ten years but I tell you when I looked up in that bathroom mirror and saw my mamas familiar weary face and angry brow and recognised that disappointed look in her eye, barely concealing those unshed tears…….I KNEW I was in big Trouble!
I stood there looking in the mirror and remembered all the times I had fleshed out arguments in my life.
How many times I found myself bickering with people cause they were so wrong and I was so right and I KNEW I needed to make them see my point of view. How many times  I tore peoples words apart so I could find the perfect one to be offended by…too many times to count over the years!

After all the Trouble in me had a very strong calling to point out to others their failings and how to correct their words and behaviors so they would be just like me.
Then I remembered how many times I would get to a peaceful place and it felt REALLLL uncomfortable so I would start looking around and find someone to make a bit of Trouble with or criticise someone near to me for letting me down or not acting how I thought they should be acting!

Group Leader:  “Well Trouble..you have come to the right place and the first thing we would like to do, after the big group hug , is give you a new name. So from now on we will all know you as:

“GrownUp”!

”We reckon you have had enough Trouble for one life time and with your new insight, because you have finally seen that you have been creating this Drama in your life for too long now, you earn your Brand New name…

Grown Up~ formerly known as Trouble (blinking modest tears of appreciation and realistion how lonely she had been for so long whilst she was Trouble):    “Well thankyou SO much for that. I am amazed that I only had to come here to Dramaholics once to finally really get the message that when I let go of looking for and creating Trouble then I really truly am all Grown Up!…

Group Leader:   Well the realisation is just the first step Grown up, that old draaaama addiction will still have a hold at times but at least you now have an understanding of your role in these things…

The End.

…and The BEginning of Trouble beginning to finally realise that we usually find what we are looking for and the wisdom of making sure we are looking to make a positive difference in the world rather than add to the tsunami of drama, gossip, irrelevant ‘news’ and media-machinations currently consuming the planet and the consciousness of its inhabitants with its currents of draaaama….

“Men occasionally stumble across the Truth but most pick themself up and hurry off as if nothing has happened”.

“The Magical Child in Exile – Why Does the Creative Well Being Run Dry? ” is related to the “Drama Detox unit” and can be read by clicking on the dots here…………

Posted in Chaos, Creativity, Drama, Energy, Humor, Imagination, Laughter, law of attraction, Lifes Stories, Mind Power, Women | Tagged: | 4 Comments »

The Sha’manic. The Manic. And the Mists of Madness in between…

Posted by carolom on April 21, 2007

*This piece is shared here for my friend on the Lonsdale Street Tram who has asked many questions over the years about my view on “Energy Management” and why I think that energetic and Emotional Mastery of the often chaotic forces within is such an important part of our journey to reaching our fullest potential.

For a number of years I had several highly creative, highly emotional, charismatic people in my close inner circle. Some have remained and others have taken a different path.
During one particularly chaotic year three of my friends were diagnosed as having bi-polar (manic depression)..a state that highly creative, often emotionally unresolved people experience as the sharp side of the brilliant Sword of creativity and a highly imaginative Mind.
I have never experienced that place myself, though the mirrors of my relationships reflected back the choas that often accompanies the highly creative state and I sometimes had a “there but for the grace of god go I” perspective.

These days, unswayed, uncharmed and unconvinced by the hyper-energetic excitations of another’s “wow”, I am ever mindful that once sleeplessness begins, it is often followed by a gloriously seductive technicolour dream that is merely a nightmare awaiting to enter centre stage..

I read and researched widely during that chaotic time and have no doubt that much of the entertainment, paintings, movies, stories and ideas we enjoy collectively were birthed within and as a result of the hyper-manic realms and from the depressed and darkened place that most often follows.

Those books I bought are now boxed away and happily removed from my everyday life but I remember what I have learnt and am Thankful for the lessons though I have no need to return to that place of learning ever again..
Through those many journeys that I walked with friends and family and in my work in the areas of homelessness and welfare, I came to realise that there is a “Mist” of ‘madness in this realm of “mania” / hyper-mania, bi-polarities and chaos.
One of my friends ( we were Thelma and Louise in our teens) finally realised how seasonal her manic-eruptions were, that was the beginning to transcending the chaos that visited her every winter for several years.

It is not a ‘line’ that one crosses from ‘sane’ to ‘crazy’…it can begin with a little thought here or an odd reaction there droplet by droplet like when we begin to enter a fog that we can see in the distance and suddenly realise the fog has consumed us and we can no longer see a single foot in front of us.

What is ‘crazy’ anyway?
The Shaman and time travellers of Indigenous ways of old – and not so old – required the altered state to access their gifts and the Other Realm.
Our mental health system is one based on pathology and sickness not the Mythological state and individual giftedness, which is often defined by those ‘manic’ currents and imPulses.
Our visionaries, shaman, mystics and time travellers are most often sedated, mislablled, interned and squashed by medical practitioners and therapsits who are themselves uninitiated into those higher, precarious realms.

There was a time in my life when the seemingly Shamanic erupted into the Manic so brilliantly and outrageously that I barely had time to grab my floaties and goggles before the tsunami of a thousand volts of creative and chaotic currents crashed down upon my world and swept me to the outer realms of the human Mind…

At the time I referred to the “Demon” who entered our home and whilst I may not use that term today …I am not so sure I would not still refer to the Demonstration of such chaos with anything less than dislike and take great care in its unpredictable presence.

 

******************************

 

 

The Mists of Madness…
A semi-fictional Story remembering all of those who I walked with upon that crazy path over 10 years ago…

Remember how much I used to hate your snoring? Well I’ve never told you this but sometimes I welcomed the raucous rumbling with delight! I would prop myself up on one arm and smile as I watched you sleep. I’d stroke your hair and pull the sheets over your shoulders, serenity in the beauty of our Love.

It was at those times that I welcomed your snoring like a reliable old friend.
You see I had come to understand that you never snored when the demon was nearby.
Your snoring told me that you were resting deeply and your mind was not stinging with the relentless attack of whirlwind thoughts, paranoia and tormented thinking.
The raucous racket of your snoring told me that we were in for a peaceful night.

We laughed that time I video taped your snores as they went from a quiet hum to a hullabaloo. After that you didn’t doubt me when I said I had to leave the room in order to sleep. You even looked a little embarrassed that such an undignified racket was beyond your control.
We were both convinced that you had gifts from God and we were in agreement that much was expected from one to whom much had been given!
Snoring was outside of this dignified realm.

I knew that when the demon was nearby you would not sleep. You would be pacing the floor, bouncing up and down on a crazy see sore of euphoria and tragedy.
You might wake me up with that crazy secretive look that alluded to mysterious knowledge of far away thing – no time for sleeping, no time for eating and no time…absolutely no time… for me..

In fact unbeknownst to me I may have turned into the enemy whilst I was sleeping. That took some adjusting to!

When the demon was in our house you would watch me sideways, seeking out the signs that would confirm to you I was now foe and not friend..

I was a cryptic enemy to be decoded
When the demon was in our house even our animals were plotting against your Divine purpose and none of us were to be trusted.
Except our beautiful dog who walked tirelessly by your side.
When she panted with thirst you no longer saw the need in her eyes…all you saw were the things you thought were true.
Even when they weren’t.

When the demon wasn’t in our house I tread carefully lest it be merely slumbering and ready to pounce at us from behind the madness veil.

Although the demon spoke to you, spoke with you and saw through you …it was not you who stood before me…you had disappeared in the mists of time.
Where did my snoring, contented mate go when the monster was here?
The moments of brilliance and knowledge twisted in a frenzy of certainty and not.
When did they merge to become one big knot until your thinking confused you and your thoughts were like rattle snakes stinging wild monkeys in the prison of your mind?

Sometimes I found myself drawn into your swirling, twirling mists of madness.
It was easier to pretend the bizarre to be true, than to plunge into my heart break alone.
Then I would cry and beg you to come back, rest, sleep, slow down.
Return to me and the world we will never again share.
You looked at me with brash confidence.
Your new world was far superior to mine.
You said my tears were cleverly plotted to draw you in…you weren’t to be fooled by the hysterics of one such as me!
I lay there sobbing and watched the tears turn deep velvet red.
My heart had split open, broken on the bed.

You were euphoric in your mania, swinging recklessly through unexplored terrain.
You invited me to join you, oblivious to my pain.
When the demon was in our house there were messages in unseen things.
Sometimes we had to go to the bathroom to speak lest the enemies were listening through wires thread through neighborhood yards.

Your look suggested I was your co-conspirator but I misread you, I was so pathetically happy to be on your side again that I joined you in whispered secrets made safe by a running hot, noisy shower.
Whatever it takes!
And it took my peace of mind.
Puffed up with bravado and conviction you were ready to confront those spies who were cleverly hidden in a neighbor’s disguise.
You had begun to burn things and you abandoned objects in the street.
The mists of madness now consumed you in a swirling, fog in your head.
Not even the incense could rid our sacred scarred home from the acrid odor of fear and dread.

I called you and I called you ….“Please come back, don’t leave me here. .. don’t let them take you away”.
……and when I realised you were no longer with me I yelled at that demon to return you to me.
I thought it was too late, you had gone but then I saw a glimmer of you in your eyes.

Teary, weary, fearful eyes, I grabbed your hand and brought you home. You only stayed for a minute or two.

Your body quivered and shook from the tremendous bolts of energy that charged forth from the darkness and wrapped you in tentacle embrace.

There was fear and euphoria, confusion upon your face.
Electrical currents surged through the once peaceful, reflective place.

The demon barged into our scared home and wouldn’t leave
…so I had to call the police and have them take you both away.
I no longer had a choice.

And you looked at me with a little smile that said… “See, I knew I was right…you were plotting against me”.

And I stood there and I shattered before my own eyes and bled into tomorrow.
Much was lost and too little was gained when our home was invaded by the demon from the unrequited past.

Grandiose certainty lay shattered and smashed in the debris of our life.
The demon mocked all that we once believed in.
We were once so confident about tomorrow…but were left with shattered yesterdays.

Forever in my heart you will remain
and I close the door on that place knowing that
we all learnt was needed
for where we were
at that Time….

*******************

Finding our Sacred, Peaceful Pathway….spending time in Nature enables us to Breathe once again…

Posted in Chaos, Charlie Sheen, Charlie Sheen's behaviour, Creativity, Drama, Dreaming, Energy, Fear, Grandiosity, Imagination, Journeys, Lifes Stories, Manic, mental illness, Shamanic | 2 Comments »