Here and Now

I’m weary of being on display for others to assess inside these walls of my home as well as when I am brave enough to cast shadows along the sidewalks to be vulnerable within a community  in which at times I feel like an unwanted outsider my heart often beating wildly outside of my chest as if wanting to escape the cage of my ribs and yet there is a steely determination  to bring YOU even for a brief moment  into my world a desire to speak my truth  even if it causes myself  and everyone around me discomfort My shadows are your shadows if only you could have enough courage to see  the mirror of my suffering to meet my unwavering gaze  Dare yourself not to look away! That.is.what.it.means. To grow together in love Angela Minard 2021©

  Dreaming in watercolor stained glass images crystal clear mirage  the aspects of human nature bleed my heart  seeping into the fluidity of my soul blurring the lines of what it is to be authentic  are you a lie posing as a teacher? ask yourself, not your ego are you compassion and grace? are you the mirror of truth or falsifying your name? Can you see beyond the shining colors to the depths of human suffering? Can you offer a warm hand  or a cold heart? What will you choose? Angela Minard 2021© Watercolor Lotus Flower by Libby May

  Truth is your name, not the letters behind them, nor your diagnoses, those labels of wife, mother, sister, friend... Breathe in your grace and exhale the stories that hold you back Once I knew a quiet and watchful child who held fears hand befriending a belly that fluttered her sweet racing heart a constant companion Insecurity weaved it’s way into every fiber of her tender being;  a sturdy fabric for such a delicate soul to wear This is your time to undress without shame to shrug the heaviness of that old and tattered garment off your weary shoulders Drape yourself in the finest silks and gossamer threads Inhale the heady fragrance of peace as you release the hand of fears icy grip This is your time... Angela Minard 2021© Photography by~ Kristina Makeeva

  Artwork by~ Masaaki Sasomoto At the height of my eating disorder, when I was entrenched in anorexic behaviors, I also held a full time job working with children with autism and other developmental disabilities. The only time it affected my work was when I took a leave of absence to go into treatment. I have missed work at times for mental health days, and I think that almost everyone at some time in their work history has done that. I would rather take a day for self care than to be sub par at my work. For many people struggling with mental health, routines are a huge part of maintaining normalcy and stability. These days of having extra time on my hands not teaching at the studio have thrown off my routine. I miss the structure, but have found myself feeling more creative, and exploring new ideas. I don’t often embrace change, but it may be time to take more chances, and move out of my comfort zone a bit. I’ve been working on publishing a few volumes of poetry, as well as a memo...

  Weaving the threads of time into a tapestry  the yellow Canary symbolizes the power to control the voice, feelings, and emotions... Strum the harp strings of your heart carrying the echo of your song to the stars and beyond Your infinite vibration rings strong and true... Angela Minard 2021© 

  Even when you close your eyes the chatter doesn’t stop tap, tap, tapping on your shoulders incessant chanting in your ears... When escape is not possible build a nest, and nourish fresh thoughts while the words find a home to make sense and rest  Create a refuge; a collage of fine twigs, downy feathers, and delicate baby’s breath to line your heart with tender care finally serenaded to sleep by a birdsong lullaby Angela Minard 2021©  Artwork by Lucy Campbell

Each fold and sharp crease between thumbnail and stark white paper hisses with outrage refined angles cutting remarks behind a simpering smile shooting baskets with the misshapen wads aim and miss each paper crane is formed from everything she was told she lacked her many failures bent into the correct aesthetic shape forced to acquiesce  throbbing fingers crimp and tuck seething warmth rising with each crumpled mistake these messy pages tell her battled tale... -the lie of perfection Angela Minard©  Artwork by  Duy Huynh

Something about the birds today pulled at my heart quietly tugging my awareness skyward  Everywhere I went I could feel the fluttering of wings on my skin like the sweet breath of angels  caressing the back of my weary neck Perhaps I had been looking down for too long the weight of darkness no longer screeching but continuing to listen intently as if silence was the monster hiding While doing yard work on this atypically warm autumn day  I at first mistook the starlings that caught my eye  for swirling leaves  until their musical trilling filled the air “Look up!” they seemed to be singing insistently  Pausing to rest tilting my gaze to the heavens my eyes widened as I watched in wonder the transformation  from onyx starlings to opalescent doves the honeyed sky dripping like slow rain weightless... cradled within the downy wings of protection -You are safe Angela Minard©  Artwork by Duy Huynh

planting my hands firmly into the ground and flipping upside down shifting perspectives exploring the perimeters  a compass leading in all directions Inhale expanding freedom Exhale releasing into gravity  the outlines disappear diving into presence  hold on tight savor the moment and then let it go dancing with breath leaning into life... Angela Minard© 

I probably shouldn’t come here  and tell You Every fucking feeling that moves through me Maybe I’m not even talking to  You around and around in circles  until I’m spinning  I haven’t been here in awhile have I? I’m sick of coming back. I should know how to do this by now everyday Grows slower Grows darker like a slow motion dream that I can’t wake up from I don’t know how to stop it No one knows no one knows It’s why I tell You Angela Minard© 

The me that started this blog over twelve years ago is long gone, although the strength and wisdom was centered deep inside, it took some digging to discover. Starting this blog was also the beginning of healing from sexual trauma and anorexia, although at times it felt as if all of that digging may bury me. A couple of times it almost did... I’m not sure why I’m here, writing I mean... I was driving home from teaching my Monday evening yoga classes, and my mind was wandering as I watched the first snowfall of the season...wandering to the past, and I thought about the pain that I poured out on this blog. Healing is a gift I finally allowed myself. Yoga gave me the gift of embodiment, and I’m grateful that I can pay that gift forward. I rarely visit the past anymore, but when I do it’s from a more forgiving place. I’m not perfect and life is never perfect, but I’m good...life is good. I doubt anyone reads these words, but if you found your way here, take this poem as my gift to you....

Transformed I hold on in my sleep clenched fists awakening with aching fingers empty hands... "It hurts, it hurts, it hurts,"  I think to myself drifting back into the same nightmare... footsteps heavy, looming shadows, and then the comforting sound of your voice calling my name "It hurts," I whisper as your gracefully opened palms receive my falling tears iridescent crystals spilling through your familiar, outstretched fingers "I will hold it for you,"  you repeat softly until my eyes begin to flutter open ...and for awhile this pain beautifully transformed Angela Minard 2017©

Returning On this day I give to you Love  as I know it from what I have learned along the way My heart  and what extends outward seeking  without knowing Somehow holding you always in a warm embrace On this day  searching ends We have returned... Angela Minard 2016© Artwork by Pier Toffoletti

Wanting The physical pain comes first before memory before wanting searing flame consuming all image imagined... When it hurts  inside now  wanting  you before you pain  without  want This wanting is a different ache throbbing from the same place Why is the womb filled with rot?  Do you ever wonder or simply believe  what you  are told?  "You smell  like the filth that you are." Could you please wrap your arms around me even with this stench? Shame is asking Shame is  telling Shame is Still  Here Wanting... Angela Minard 2016© Artwork from randiclark.com

Venus I can't speak anymore of truth of pain without my heart  lurching  into the hollow cave  of my throat I hear the reverberating echo of hate the bitter taste of poison  on my lips seething anger fills my belly You talk and talk and talk about nothing while we all  go  hungry Angela Minard 2016© Artwork by  annadittmann.tumblr.com

If you close your eyes am I no longer sitting before you Can you wish me away with these words you have heard before stifling yawn after yawn  like the wide open, endless yawn of time wasted... What good is trying to heal  Continually ripping the bandage from the wound too soon As my silences lengthen your eyelids flutter the monotony of our conversations growing as tiresome as I am weary Is this how you leave or is this how I am leaving Giving up on both of us  before you can say goodbye Angela Minard 2016©

Scream Outside my window the white sky is marbled  with veins of charcoal A winter sky in April From far away whispered thoughts drift over the stillness of my body Startled by the sound of my name being called I listen intently holding my breath until I finally realize it is my own voice calling Clamping my mouth tightly closed I breathe purposefully through my nose in 2,3,4 out 2,3,4,5 until the urge to scream disappears Droplets of rain occasionally tap the window as the lyrics to a song by The Clash plays in my head on repeat... "Should I stay or should I go Should I stay or should I go now?" The rhythm is more upbeat than I feel I feel  nothing but still the question without a clear answer So I wait... continuing to breathe in 2,3,4,5 out, 2,3,4,5,6,7 I reach for my phone find your number wait for the...

Purgatory When I was a child  I would play the "breath holding" game with myself It wasn't the kind of  "breath holding to gain attention from parents" game It was simply a challenge How long could I deprive myself of air?   life? The strangest thing is that the longer you hold your breath the more alive you feel The heart beats even louder and more ferociously The body warms and trembles to stay alive until eventually the mouth flies open like an ugly, gasping Piranah an exhale that feels like failure worn like shame... As I grew up breath holding evolved into food withholding It was simply a challenge How long could I deprive myself of food? Long enough for my heart to beat erratically for my muscles to cramp  and to shiver all day even in the summer Feeling alive ... this slow act of suicide How long could I press my fingers into my flesh ...

Tiny Package I remember this beautiful containment a neat and tiny package buzzing numbness almost like being alive almost... I'm tired of my own voice messy and overflowing spilling like sticky blood  never to be washed away closing my eyes I reach my stained hands toward you but I still see her too much to hold too much to love I remember this beautiful containment...  Angela Minard 2016©

Porcelain Her heart... imploding exploding there is no other way escape is merely an illusion but oh, how she tries less than a whisper into the darkness the shadows obscure certainty tiny fists clutching monstrous deceptions her heart holds it well Wide eyes  close  open close open as if made of porcelain a vacant, blinking doll The most beautiful treasures are veiled beneath harsh desert skies like a mirage resplendent and yet seemingly unreachable to love big is to get small and quiet until all you can hear is the truth Her heart... imploding exploding there is no other way Angela Minard 2016©