trauma journey | reverse threading

May 10, 2024
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

my monogram. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

i saw the letter k immediately. one always sees ones initials, i suppose.

it immediately made me think of the way i used to sign everything – back in the day. (note: “the day” means the 70s – which is now – shockingly – half a century ago – which makes me laugh aloud!!)

i used a combination of my initials K, E, A – joined together – nothing extraordinary, it looked like this:

i used it everywhere. i signed my poetry with it. turned in lab reports with it. i autographed my lyrics in black-and-white-speckled composition books. i signed all my greeting cards with it and left notes on crunch’s windshield adorned with it. my monogram traveled with me everywhere.

and soon, recipients of my dedication to this began to use it back to me. i even have a beautiful gold necklace that was gifted to me with my cherished self-designed monogram.

and then, the guitar strap.

it was a present.

it was during the time that tooled leather had more than a minute. like everyone, i already had tooled leather keyfobs, bracelets, belts, change purses and full-sized handbags.

but the guitar strap stood out.

i used this guitar strap for five decades on my guitar. i had compartmentalized what it represented, the person who had given it to me, the time of which it reminded me.

until one day, a few years ago.

when you join together with a partner much later in life, you are full of the stories of the rest of the time you were not together. it’s rich history, narrative begging to be shared. and so, these stories start to tell themselves a little at a time as you get to know each other. and so one day i told him the story.

in horror he listened. he held me as i wept. he gently asked questions. he was quiet with me.

the bungie cord tightly lashed around the compartment of the sexual abuse flung free, snapping back, narrowly missing us. and the box was opened.

i removed the guitar strap from my guitar, unweaving the leather cord that held it onto the neck just under the tuning pegs. i stared at it for a few minutes, my monogram tooled into stiff leather that had somewhat softened through all the years.

and i took it outside and placed it in the garbage can.

*****

THE BOX from BLUEPRINT FOR MY SOUL ©️ 1996 kerri sherwood

download music from my little corner of iTUNES

stream on PANDORA

listen on iHEART radio

read DAVID’S thoughts this K.S. FRIDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. ~ thank you. xoxo

*buymeacoffee is a tip-jar website where you may choose to help support the continuing creating of artists whose work means something to you.* ♡

March 19, 2024
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

glimmerwand. [kerri’s blog on two artists tuesday]

the magic wand – infused by the sun – stood tall in the reeds. if only i could pluck it out and take it with, still full of its magic, still glowing, i thought.

it was a brilliant day. the sky blue-blue, the air crisp, the trail ready for us, quiet, winding. we pass by marshes and bogs and woods – the hoofprints of deer preceding us, crossing the way from safe-place to water source.

and then the magic wand glimmered and reached out, tapping me on the head, bestowing glimmer magic, begging the question: and what will you do with this?

i carried the glimmer as we hiked. it was quite like carrying a toddler – full of energy and zeal, ready to get down out of my arms and run, run, run. the glimmer knew that it had work to do and there is no time to spare. for the power to light dark places is not to be underestimated, the ability to drop a spark into ash is not to be underplayed. the glimmer was anxious and excited, both.

and yet, the magic wand knows this: that relighting the dark and touching the grief of flame doused by others, the pain of trauma caused by others is not easy. dark cannot be readily relit if there are only shadows and no room for light. grief cannot be easily eased if there is no corner of the heart untouched by it. pain cannot be addressed without balm to the wound.

the glimmerwand was trembling at the end of the trail, still held in my arms. i wanted to hold onto it, to believe it would be that simple.

but the wand knew better. like the extended finger of ET the extra-terrestrial, it touched the center of my chest, through down vest and thick thermal and baselayer shirt, directly to my heart.

and it told me it would always be there – this light from the sun. it would wait and wait. and it would be with me – with me – diffusing fear, enlivening exhaustion. and i could reach down and touch it any time, this glimmer, and it would warm me up from inside out.

*****

read DAVID’S thoughts this TWO ARTISTS TUESDAY

like. subscribe. share. support. comment. ~ thank you. xoxo

*buymeacoffee is a website tip-jar where you may support the continuing creating of artists whose work is important to you.* ❤️

January 5, 2024
by kerrisherwood11 1 Comment

sustenance. [kerri’s blog on k.s. friday]

we waited for it. and the bit o’ sun showed up on christmas morning – after several days of fog. it was a moment of hope – to see that shining orb trying to burn its way through. it didn’t last long – it ended up raining – but it counts that it was there.

i woke early the other morning. snugged under the comforter and the quilt, open window by my side, i could hear birds. it’s unusual to hear them quite so zealous in the winter, but for a few minutes – on this not-as-cold winter dawn – they were there and it was exquisite.

we walked through the antique shoppe and stumbled across the frame of a lampshade tied with bits of muslin, satin and gauze. i was immediately back in the old farmhouse in iowa where several fabric-ed repurposed lampshades hung in a corner. we walked on, but that time-spent surrounded me for a few minutes and i texted the owner of the airbnb – just to let her know about this visceral fondness – the memories. they were there, swirling around me.

some things are indelible. they etch into us as touchstones of comfort. the sun, early-morning birds, memories. they feed us in times of extreme hunger, times when we really need something to hold onto that is somehow tangible even in its fleeting.

and some things are meant to be laid down. they are shadows. they starve us, they compel us into deeper waters where it’s harder to differentiate good from not-good and we feel a bit lost, out to sea. it’s too noisy, too raucous, too frenetic – when we are merely seeking serenity. we work to lay it all down – that which impedes us, which makes us stumble, which blocks us.

in this very first week of the new year i am hoping that this is the year i personally may be able to put a few things to rest. we all have them – those open manila file folders in our heads or hearts. i – like you – yearn to take a sharpie, label them “done”, slap the folders closed and staple them shut.

but even in this rapidly-approaching-medicare age of mine, i know there is work to get there. nothing worth doing is easy…isn’t that the saying? though i don’t have the flip-the-page-a-day-over-the-metal-u-rings-at-a-glance calendar that my sweet momma had, i want to flip the pages over to get there.

we all take out the manila folders and peek inside. it’s a hunger. to get to “done” on those folders and to get to “start” or “start again” on others.

and sustenance helps. the generous. the most basic. even crumbs. even the most transitory, the most evanescent. if it was there – if it fed us – it counts.

*****