I used to write a ton of poetry. At least 2 to 3 poems a week. I kept them in the most beautiful journals I could find, and, if possible, wrote the poems in the journals using the same pen I had used to hash the poem out on paper.
Then came antidepressants. I seemed to lose my poetic drive slowly, and though I mourned the loss of creativity, I didn't think it was that much to lose, because I could no longer snatch words out of the air as they swirled around me for the taking. I struggled to write a poem about how poetry did not come to me anymore in January, but the only time I had written a poem before that was 2011, and before that was probably before I was married, except for the occasional contrived piece that I was not necessarily proud of.
Enter Cursillo. Without digressing too much, I will say that this past weekend I made my Cursillo at CNY's Cursillo weekend #54. A Cursillo is a special kind of retreat that is very intensive and beautiful, but also exhausting. 15 talks about different elements of spirituality in 3 days is a lot! While at Cursillo, I met a wonderful deacon. She struck me first with her sermon about the Prodigal Son on the very first night we were there. It helped me figure out that even though I identify with the older son in the story (the one who does not squander his money and stays with his father), that even though I never had a huge party thrown for me just for asking for forgiveness after a big mistake, I am still loved and still will be loved forever. I had been holding onto so much anger and resentment in my heart, and until then, I wasn't able to release it. For the rest of the weekend she and I talked extensively and had a very special moment when we had healing prayer one evening after Compline and she prayed with me and anointed my forehead. But in addition to this, she gave two of the fifteen talks we heard. One on Grace and one on Obstacles. Both struck a deep chord within me, and after the Grace talk, I felt compelled to actually write a poem. Words were swimming in my head again! It felt like a miracle. Since Friday, I have toyed with about 5 poems on paper, and they are starting to work out and I'm almost ready to share them. Most of them are religious in nature, but I feel that art (music, poetry, drama, whatever!) inspired by something sacred, even the stuff that some would consider blasphemous, has more of a "pull" to it than more secular forms of art.
Here is the first copy of my most recent poetic inspiration. It is still under construction and may be edited later, but it was inspired by Healing Prayer with the aforementioned Deacon who inspired me so thoroughly:
I will never articulate
the transformation I felt
from ten fingers
holding my troubled head
and bluest eyes
that looked gently into my soul;
i could feel the love coursing into me.
The oil marked my forehead in a cross
and the burdens on my weary heart
Love coursed from me, too,
into those blessed hands
as we were joined
in unity of purpose.
5 May, 2014.
c. Emily Morisette