Mom sent me to my room if I scratched, bit, or thumped a sibling.
Yes, any one of those happened more often than I care to admit. I recall fury as my Go To Emoji.
I fumed in my room for quite awhile.
Then typically turned to my stack of library books as sanctuary from the flame of hatred. I hated my life, my mom, any one of my six sisters, two brothers, circumstances, and consistent lack.
If I could get ahold of a book, delve into the words, scene, story, I could canter out of the heat and into another, calmer world. The other option was a walk in the woods.
Everything seemed out of my control as a youngster.
Now, it isn't in control, in any way, shape, or form yet, I KNOW IT!
That's the difference. And a HUGE one.
Woods by Noelle Oxendandler
I wish to grow dumber
to slip deep into woods that grow blinder
with each step I take,
until the fingers let go of their numbers
and the hands are finally ignorant as paws.
Unable to count the petals,
I will no know who love me
who loves me not.
Nothing to remember
nothing to forgive
I will stumble into the juice of the berry,
the shag of the bark,
I will be dense and happy
as fur.
My time in the woods is imperative, as a child and now, especially in times of dissent. I can connect to my lung capacity, soulful breathing, and blood flow. I suss out the fear, the root cause of my suffering and "failure" as well as the underlying dilemma in every story. I understand Fear has helped me get traction, like a fellow ballhandler, passing just at the right time for my score.
How do YOU cope - books or woods or something else?