Answering the Survey

About Home Help
(a daily living support)
only makes me despair...

People don't understand my son
and perhaps I don't either.
As his mom, I have attempted
to translate behavior
into communication
for others throughout
his life. I should write that
new language out so that
more people could know him,
particularly after I am gone.

Is that possible?
Highly unlikely. Some things
simply do not translate.

- Nessa McCasey

ahhh, yes, the wonderful power of our own imaginings:

Imagining

by Deborah Rodney

What if God isn't a noun
to be empowered and worshiped
but a verb of creation
powered by love?

What if every single tree
drawn in primary school
is a sacred work of art
worthy of joyful notice?

What if our lives are built 
on a web of kindness,
a net, 
which holds everything living.

What if the rocks are alive
singing strength and courage;
vibrating
from our feet right up to our heart?

What if we loved ourselves
as deeply as the mountain
who, 
caressed by water,
surrenders herself
into sand?

What if our most loved,
intra-national pastime
is a game of entertainment
where we all win?

What if no one aspired
to be a millionaire
and money no longer had power
but was simply a means of tender-ness.

What if transforming our world
by imaging it
can 
actually make it happen?

And my own stanza, since I adore questions and believe in the power of the imagination to bring about miracles:

What if my mother didn't die
in that hospital bed, but rather
shifted form onto my skin
as I washed her body? (I carry her
with me
everywhere I go.)  - NM 2017 July 18

I Am The Poem

Who are you? What brings you alive? Try answering these questions in a small poem. You can post it in the comments below. Here is my poem.

I am the poem.

As I write, I become.

As I read, I widen my being. 

As others read me, I am born.  

I am the real poem,

being written each day.  

  - Nessa McCasey

An online course for professionals/trainees
in the field of poetry therapy / therapeutic writing

Here is the paypal link to pay ($300 now through Dec 31, after which it will change to $350). 

Longing and Belonging

Yesterday morning, I attended a small group from my church where we are using John O'Donohue's book, Eternal Echoes, on the theme of Longing and Belonging. Here's my writing on this topic today (I could write novels/stories/poems/plays/songs on this topic, or so it feels to me, anyway), in the form of linked cinquains. I am of course, more interested in processing feelings than writing good poems, but I still hope this is a somewhat good poem. I'll keep editing it before I publish it in a book, I promise! 

Longing and Belonging

longing

always I am

reaching into my soul

for the place to stand firmly

grounded

heart blast

as solar chimes

resound while I write this

savoring aloneness and peace

in tears

holding

sorrow and joy

in my hands at one time

longing is deep and belonging

is sky ---

sky looks

upon me now

I breathe slowly

and feel held by the world as if

mothered

written by Nessa McCasey, PTP, CPT, MENTOR

Open The Door

Go on, open the door that you have ignored for so long, 

expecting that it would only be a trick or lead to an empty room. 

Without trusting the world, nothing will result 

and the room of treasures will remain empty all your life

and you will be bereft. 

Go on, trust this world with its door everywhere. 

Open one after the other and remain committed

to trying another even if you find one is a dud.

Here, this one is waiting just for you. Your best

friend is there on the other side. It's your own heart, 

beating for your creative spirit, giving it a try. Now 

just do that again. Again. Again.     

 by Nessa McCasey, 2010

Poetry Makes My Day

Not knowing where I am going

is often the best way for me to travel.

Though common wisdom has been

to know where one wants to go

before setting out,

it works for me to start walking,

one foot in front of the other, and

then let miracles happen. Rainbows appear

at the end of a rainstorm. Smiles come my

way even when I don’t deserve them. There’s

a happy design in the clouds in the sky.

A parking spot opens up just when I need one.

And a poem comes out of the atmosphere.

Into my fingers. Onto the page.

Even without lines on the page, still,

a poem. You might think I was similar to

this wonderful poet who finds poems

on her daily walks into nature. 

The best wisdom may be that

we are all wonderful poets,

if we just let each poem have its time.

So go ahead, put one foot in front of the other,

start walking, and let another miracle happen. 

To you. To the world.

Be well and be happy,

Nessa McCasey