Woman in fog (The cusp of menopause)

If only she could, she would give her

heart to her husband, a womb to her daughter

arms to her son. But her body lies on the floor

awaiting rejuvenation, still breathing, broken

What to do on the days when tears drop

into her soup?  It’s OK to do nothing, she thinks

except simple tasks like laundry.

She picks up a book of poems instead

reads, “Trees lose parts of themselves inside a circle of fog”*

She’s in a thick fog, has shed her leaves

absorbed moisture till she has water

on the brain,  disoriented by the shift  that wakes her

at night, puts other parts to sleep,

brought to her knees in a wave of heat and tears,

unable to exchange the chef’s hat

for the sombrero.

Her feet feel heavy, her mind dull.

She tells herself,  it is only temporary,

lie fallow, compost.

Oh the music she needs to comfort her

and the long night she’ll travel through

until the bright dawn reclaims her.

Human, faulty, imperfect,

like the low thrum she hears in Cohen’s voice.

Claiming darkness as its source,

it rings true, full of light.

*by Francis Ponge. 

Menopausal Poem Series: Bug Soup

Bug soup

Inside the chrysalis

the transforming cocoon place,

low-lying renewal space,

melting is going on.

Before muscle and wing,

Before the colour and deft flight,

poor caterpillar reduced to liquid mess.

At 49, awaiting the end of bleeding

I laid low and felt my muscles liquefy,

All my energy turned inward.

No more dizzy crawling, running and doing.

Just rest

And more rest,

naps in the afternoon.

Until my beautiful wings began to grow

surround me with rainbow reflections.

Sunshine called me out.

We dried our flimsy wet things

and took off.

@Jennifer Boire

Menopausal Poetry Series

Because I love poetry, and there are so few poems about menopause out there, I have dug deep into my computer files and pulled out a series from over ten years ago when I was in the throes of it.

Here's one:

Three little pills and a Pomegranate

Muse on the table

are you food or drink?

Three little pills on my yellow placemat:

One clever red clover

renders me immune to restlessness,

cures insomnia.

Vitamin B mitigates “the change”,

Calcium Citrate coats the nerves,

protects the children from swinging

moods, banged doors.

Biting into a shiny red orb allowed

Persephone to see her mother half the year.

My prying fingers reveal a messy beehive

of oblong kernels.

Mouth puckers as crystal blobs,

nutty & tart, stain my fingers rouge.

Will it make me mortal to eat these seeds?

Already I have become human

in my daughter’s eyes.

I told Katie that her cat died.

Rocking in darkness

comforted us both.

My mid-life journey

I have always considered myself a writer, first and foremost, until I discovered in my late 40’s that I enjoy working with women in creative circles more than sitting at home alone writing. I’m also learning about my archetypes – and how my Caretaker, Spiritual seeker and Creative artist side are all balancing out in this facilitating and teaching role.

While the kids were growing up, I spent my spare time writing poetry in my little office at home, alone, without much feedback, besides the odd publication, without nourishing conversations with other women, in a competitive literary environment. On the Writers Spa trip to Taos in 2006, I was asked if I really wanted to make it in the literary world, and I realized my answer was no. I wanted to reach mainstream women, and write a blog on my menopausal journey. The Tao of Turning Fifty (2012) was born out of that blog.

The search for meaning and purpose is rarely a straight line. There are many dead-ends, wrong turns, swamps of despair, mountains to climb, but as Carolyn Myss says, we have a blueprint in our souls, and if we follow our excitement, our passionate likes, we will uncover the energy we didn’t know we had, that has been pushed down or covered up. Following our ‘loves’, what we used to do and love, gives us a big hit of an endorphin, pleasure rush. For me, getting back to dancing and singing on stage with the Hudson Music Club was 100% more fulfilling than reading my meager poems in front of a static and often unappreciative audience. I rediscovered my Performer self, by following my love of singing.

Lately, taking classes in expressive arts and working with creative process has awakened my inner child-artist self. The one who loved drawing and colouring, sketching flowers and seedpods in my science workbook at school, before somebody shut me down in Grade four by accusing me of copying someone else’s work in an art class. Now I’m integrating this love of art making into my Creative Circle, and have reinvented myself online as Creative Soulful Woman. Naming and Claiming my creative energies has been so empowering.

At mid-life, we are free, more than ever, to rediscover what we love, to get into Creative Flow, find out what makes us glow. It’s high time to let go and release what no longer serves you or makes you feel small. It’s time to tune in, receive inner guidance, and get help from intuitive clues.

Ask yourself, What do I love? What would I do if it weren’t so selfish? (especially if you’re a caretaker type).

My own Caretaker/mother and Artist/performer selves are no longer in conflict. My kids have flown the coop and I am free to pursue my hobbies and creative interests (as long as I don't overload my self with lists of things to do and house projects!)

How about you? Can you carve out some time just for you? 

Make a plan, pencil it in, take a class, put on your dancing shoes, buy a bike. It’s time to enjoy the rest of your life.

See www.archetypes.com for a quiz to find your Archetypes

Jennifer Boire

Creative Soulful Woman

find me on Facebook, Pinterest, Twitter, LinkedIn

https://www.facebook.com/creativesoulful/ 

NOTE: New On-Line Class called Her Journey: The Heroine's Quest at Mid-Life, 8 weeks, weekly conference call, begins Wed. Oct 12. 7:30 PM EST, all calls recorded, more info and registration on the website. www.jenniferboire.com