Listen to me read my newest poem to you here:
So many of us are on a healing journey. Which is a good thing. This is how we come home to ourselves, end damaging cycles, lighten the next generation’s load, and make a more beautiful world possible. But it’s not easy, is it?
Last week I navigated my first UTI. It was super intense. But in the midst of that intensity some profound healing happened, a clarity arrived, and this poem arose. Intensity can be like that, huh? A crucible for transformation.
Emerging from that experience, I feel wonderful. My energy is coming back strong and I feel vibrant. Expansive. Grateful.
When I’m in those times of painful struggle my healing mentor reminds me that this is how it works—expansion follows contraction. Contraction follows expansion. Inhale. Exhale. As often as I surf these waves, I still need the reminder. 🌊 Maybe you do too?
Holy Work What I didn’t know about healing is that it only takes everything and the deeper you go the less optional it is. There is no off-ramp on this stretch of highway. We are so far gone now in this exile/torture we call civilization that we’re unable to see how far we are from home, from ourselves, the earth. Until we start finding our way back to belonging and our hearts break all over again for a world in pain, insane with disconnection, craving safety and aliveness. What I didn’t know about healing is that it’s not a wholesome progression toward better, happier, healthier so much as wave upon wave of being undone. When what’s holding you together is tearing you apart there is no other way forward. And that’s where we are now. What I didn’t know about healing is how gritty-physical it is to come home to the earth that is your body. The mind wants out. Pain is painful. We’ll do everything in our power to rise above, outrun, outsmart, distract, numb, cover over, “clear blocks” and transcend. Until we can’t anymore. Today, in the nearly-nauseating discomfort of a urinary tract infection I finally asked my body (on weary day 3) "What do you need?” and heard so clearly, "Please keep me company.” Moved to great tenderness by this, I did. I descended, like how you drop down to your knees to be with a small child, meeting them where they are. I put my book, thoughts, and agenda down and simply stayed with my body while the pain existed. It didn’t go away but something in me softened. What I didn’t know about healing is that it would be this miraculous and relentless. Expansion and contraction. Wonderment and despair. A long, slow descent into what is, demanding my full and steady attention, all the courage I have and could ever hope to muster and a stunning amount of support. I didn’t know it would be a bewildering mapless journey that continually takes us deeper into uncertainty, messiness, and the wild desert wilderness all so we can finally come home. And be truly human for the first time. I suppose these lines haven’t sold you on this path. I probably should do better. Because more than anything else, healing is what our world needs. But I’m unworried. If you’re doing this holy work my words will be comfort and if your time is not yet, then a seed is planted. We were made for this, my friend. —Kai Madrone June 8, 2023
A poem is a journey for the senses, not just the mind. I believe poetry is a song that is meant to be heard as well as read. I invite you to experience me reading it to you:
In my experience, the healing journey takes me deeper and deeper into compassion, for self and other. So I’m pairing this poem with a painting of Kuan Yin, the goddess of compassion, painted by my talented and dear friend, Lisa Pranam.
Lisa makes gorgeous soulful art; holds space for the sacred, nourishes people’s creativity, and walks the healing path with me. I love how this Kuan Yin painting has ocean waves, dragon serpents, and a brilliant sky—all of which have been essential elements in my own healing journey.
A lovely poem! What moved me this most are the following lines. I often have to keep my body company and I hope to be good company. Our journey together has been so hard and long and we--together--know best. ...Thanks!
I finally asked my body (on weary day 3)
"What do you need?”
and heard so clearly,
"Please keep me company.”
Moved to great tenderness by this,
I did.
I descended, like how you drop down
to your knees to be with a small child,
Kai, so beautiful and true. Living our whole lives is a messy, painful business, but the journey is full of revelations and joy, and the outcome will be worth the trials. I love your writing and your travels.