Resisting the Tides

I’m so thrilled to welcome Juanita as a guest author on Introspective Collective. Resisting the Tides is a truly beautiful poem full of strength, courage, and encourages a state of mindfulness amidst turbulence.

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Resisting the Tides

by Juanita Rey

• • •

I’m sitting on a rock
and the tide is rolling in around me.
I’m separating from the land.
There’s nothing underfoot but water.

The waves slap on either side
like the fists of a wife-beater
but I determined to remain calm,
to not move from my tiny island.

I know it’s all the moon and sun’s doing.
All those gravitational forces
acting on a spinning globe.
But, when you’re actually sitting here,
with ocean swirling around you,
it feels much more personal than that.

The pounding doesn’t stop me thinking.
The spray can’t interfere with my reminiscing.
This is my sanctuary.
I think of home and family,
not drowning.

Eventually, the tide pulls out.
It’s met its match.
Other rocks appear now.
Maybe other women will join me.

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Juanita Rey is a Dominican poet who has been in this country (United States) for five years. Her work has been published in Pennsylvania English, Harbinger Asylum, Petrichor Machine and Porter Gulch Review.

Accompanying photograph is by Farrah Emami.

Retreat

I’m currently in Colorado Springs, on the last day of my solo writer’s retreat. I’m been learning new techniques, vocabulary, art history; I’ve been experimenting with different writing styles to expand and stretch my creativity.

I thought that I would try my hand at some stream-of-consciousness writing–where the words are written without any structure or punctuation. It’s a pure way of writing. The words just simply are.

• • •

Retreat

The mountain town welcomes me with snow capped peaks and a cafe serving decaf coffee with a french couple chattering beside me my high school mind picks up on a few words they speak and how they spill onto this paper and are carried past the botanical and butterfly posters out the wide open door on the bright blue tempered day and though my reason for this visit is to retreat and write it really was predestined so I could reconnect and reopen my mind to the spontaneity and surprise that plays sweetly through song and through the cherry blossom blooms against the heavens and all the while I look back out towards the horizon and see the snow capped peaks

Metamorphose

I’ve wrestled with how to announce this upcoming news, and settled on writing the way I only know how–with upfront honesty. In the next month, Ricky and I will be moving from our home in Nashville to our once-called home city in Ohio. As the days move closer to the state-to-state move, which is still in the hazy future, more and more mixed feelings are tossed about. But there is one thing I am sure of. This move will fulfill our dreams, our purpose.

For those that know me personally, or have followed our story, Ricky and I moved from Columbus, Ohio to Nashville, TN about 3.5 years ago. It was the best move that we had made in our life. Columbus was the place where I rehabilitated from toxicity, ranging from physical healing from self-harm to the initial steps of mental-healing from trauma. I met Ricky there, and we fell in love.

Alike my initial Ohio move, Ricky and I were purposefully brought to Nashville. It was under the unknown guise of Ricky pursuing music and his band, but it was a predestined plan to take Ricky and I into deeper revelation, healing. There were things within my heart that I never anticipated to unlock: bitterness that had been rotting within, jealousy and hatred hidden in my heart.

It wasn’t Nashville that unearthed this in me, rather the season. This was the time where I was mentally ready and willing; this season pulled all the ick out of me, like a purifier. It didn’t leave gaping holes, rather filled with an abundance of joy. I re-found my love for writing here, which has wildly flourished to me publishing a poetry collection. I befriended conviction, the honest friend, always looking out for my best. But most importantly, I’ve allowed Holy Spirit to awaken in me, rather than ignoring and silencing it to dormancy in my life.

I know that when I move back to Ohio, this will carry along with me. My previous dwelling in Ohio to now, is truly as contrasting as death and life–a striking metamorphose. I wish to spread love and community around, leaking a trail of hope wherever I walk. My deep hatred for humanity stirred in my spirit has transformed into an emotional wave of love for people.

Several months back, I was exploring the Columbus art museum independently. While walking, I became engulfed with emotion to the point of tears. I saw into the souls perusing the scattered artwork–knowing that some are lost, others are overcome with anxiety, others craving community to celebrate their wins and encourage their dormant dream to fruition. This tidal wave of love pulled me close; it was an overwhelming confirmation that championed this change.

I feel incredible alacrity for this new season, this new location. Ricky will be settling into a worship/arts position full time at our previous church; I will continue to work at Lyft, but remotely from our new home in Ohio.

I feel such peace about moving to a place that I said that I’d never live again. The best is truly yet to come.

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EDIT: The Nashville Farewell poetry show has been cancelled due to the rapid rate our move is taking! Morning Air, Morning Light can still be purchased through this site and I will be sure to sign every copy shipped.

Awakened

It’s hard for me to explain this season that I’ve lingered within the past couple months. I want to describe it as a slumber, but I’ve been awake; not in the way of an awakening, rather, that moment where eyes open only slightly in the morning, and you roll back over into welcoming warmth of the bed. It’s been almost lethargy, a depression that I masqueraded as ‘resting to recharge’ to pacify my lack of understanding for the current season.

I’ve recognized it for what it is. While I have thought that I was ‘recharging’, neglecting everything that inspires me, I was really punishing myself in hopes of a deeper understanding. My personality always wants to grow, stretch, learn. But I was wanting to learn, only stripping away all else. I was pausing my life, hoping that I’d have an epiphany that would change my world and maybe other’s too. This idealistic concept never came. I don’t think it would ever come in this state. I wasn’t living life. I was sitting at a prideful pause, rather than a state of stillness. I was missing stillness’ humility where growth truly incubates.

The irony in it all is that I have learned one thing: that to learn I must lean not on my own understanding, but through discernment in all things. I’m pursuing this art to marry the two together, discernment and living. I’m finding that I don’t have to fear fumbling, that I’ll be guided once I relinquish control and solely trust. I can be confident in knowing that deeper soul-growth won’t graze by. I’m living with my eyes wide open.

Warmth + Gratitude

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A candle flickers in my peripherals, with its fragrance filling the air. Lavender. The same scent steams from my—laced with peppermint leaves. The warmth swirls within my mouth as I relax in to my chair. My eyes are met with a polaroid photo that I pinned to the wall. It’s of my mother and I at my brother’s summer wedding. Even the polaroid photo catches the radiance in her smile. 

I’ve always wanted to emulate my mother, and at a young age defined success as being a mother with many children. But I’ve grown to recognize that it’s her bright spirit I long to mirror, how she illuminates every scene. 

I step into deeper, digressing thought. My features are a fifty-fifty blend of her’s and my father’s. I love that. So perplexing how genes can mix and fuse and swap and join together. God never misses a moment to showcase His artistry.

I see my mother’s strength, and recognize that it’s fortified. It originates in her intimate encounters with The Creator. She’s an incredible showcase of her strength, for it’s in her nature. Her strength is her speaking openly, sharing words, hurt, her testimony–all to help and relate to others–meeting them where they are at, only to bring them to a higher place, bringing heaven down for us to dwell within. I’m so thankful for her golden heart.

During the trip for my brother’s wedding, we visited the California sand dunes. I stole this time to be still within the present, hiding away in the divots between the dunes. Here, I wrote this poem. 

My Mother

Eyes lining each petal, 
the soft and vulnerable centers, 
taking notice of every bundle of hydrangeas, 
black eyed susans and hummingbird sage. 

Your mind sketches them in charcoal, 
paints them with acrylics, 
writes them into a book, 
with a matching movie,
while treasuring this time. 

Your eyes
brighten by the ocean, 
by the mountains, 
by the coming-of-age of the brother of mine. 

Your heart is always heavy for others, 
but forever increases in capacity, 
unbroken by burdens, 
free like the swallows skimming over sand. 

My face is beginning to resemble yours 
with the passing years–
cheekbones prominent,
my almond-shaped eyes.

I pray that my spirit’s maturation, 
does the same.

• • •

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I retreated from the warmth beneath the bedtime covers and was greeted by the morning. Its light gently descended out across our home—spilling across the carpet and cabinets. My body was bathed in peppermint as the cool air brought a refreshing bite to my skin.

It’s Thanksgiving morning. Ricky is in the bathroom—water-on, water-off—brushing his teeth in preparation for his work day.

I read a while, and take Rollie (our little min-pin mix) outside. The frost has melted away, but the air is still pure. I think that’s my favorite trait of the end of year months, that morning’s renewal bleeds into later within the day. It’s free from the scorching, harsh heat, not weighed heavy from humidity. 

I brew some tea and refill the vase that holds goldenrods and peach roses. They were waiting for me in cellophane wrapping when I arrived home from work earlier this week and have since expanded out their petals to full-bloom. 

I fold laundry, the little load of white shirts, towels, socks. I dwell on the day’s purpose–the day of giving thanks. I name all things I’m thankful for, regardless of size: 

The overflow and outpour of Love, and how it spills and splashes about. 
The husband who kisses me before leaving our home for the day. 
My family who generously shares in conversation, despite our coast-to-coast distance. 
These quiet mornings, gifted with the intent for my mind to rest. 
These warm and freshly folded linens.

My heart is full, soul soothed, and my mind is in a posture of gratitude. 

• • •

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The moment I began writing affirmations, the sun debuted for the day. My skin, my shirt soaked up its warmth. After a few seconds, it withdraws, idling back behind the clouds. This cool, autumn afternoon, is to be spent sipping on a muggy coffee drink. 

I move onto the second string of affirmations, and the sun peeks out again. It’s an honest moment, and my hand and pen become a dancing shadow on these bright white, lined sheets.

This simple gesture has shed light on the significance that saunters about. Fullness.

Calming the Current

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These past few months, I’ve waded into still waters; slowly slipping into a silent shadow. Being less visible and more intentional: cutting out television, fasting social media, reading more books.

Capacities have fallen from the sky, pooled together. They’ve collected, causing a great current. I’ve been fighting this flood. Drained from the time poured into my creative ventures, work, responsibilities, steady schedules shaken up by bi-weekly travel. Worry-water drips from my eyes. My muscles are sore from straining against. Body weak. Weary. 

This cyclical circumstance reins familiar, and I pause to take a breath. I can be calm, continuously penning alongside the current’s capacity. I hold quiet dreams in my heart, learning to be okay with the plethora of journal entries that hide between the bindings of my notebook. I separate my worth from my works, my words. 

I’m seeking strength within this silence, finding boldness in grace. My everyday endeavor is to avoid the restlessness, and search for softer moments–to simply be in silence and let it soak into my skin.

There’s growth in this, too. 

I’m leveling into a less loud presence, allowing undivided attention to others. I’ve been repeating the same scriptures, rather than rapidly reading though. Praying throughout the day, reading the little written whispers listed within the margins of paper. I’m taking gentle action from simplicity. Learning to let go of all worry and to hold tightly to truth.

I’m learning to serve others well. To be soft with myself. 

To rest.