Poetry

Reading from “Loving Narcissus & Sometimes God”

/ Tricia Barker, Author of Angels in the OR / 2 Comments

Poetry is a fantastic medium for writing about spirituality, especially when these experiences are still integrating and peculating. I often encourage those who have recently awakened or had a near-death experience to journal and write poetry if that interests them. Years later, I know they will look back and appreciate the knowing of these moments.

I waited what seemed like forever for the title, “Loving Narcissus & Sometimes God,” to come to me. Eventually, it popped into my brain!

Perhaps, all the wonderful IG accounts and YouTube accounts that focus on narcissistic abuse helped me better understand why empaths like myself can attract narcissists. In this collection, I use the Greek Myth of “Narcissus” to represent all the ways that loving people who are unhealthy for us can shift our focus away from that love of God. In my latest YouTube video, I read the title poem, “Loving Narcissus.”

The last half of the poetry collection focuses on the better choice of simply Loving God in all areas and at all stages of our lives. Here is the final poem of the collection. I’d love it if you pre–ordered the book. It is free on Kindle Unlimited.

All This Talk About Death

We go on folks…we go on.
The credits are rolling,
surgeons are packing up their tools,
loved ones are falling to their knees,
and there you are in spirit going on,
finally aware of how your worries
shouldn’t have been worries.

You should have loved them more,
hugged them more frequently,
reminded them to be happier,
taken them out to enjoy
the sunlight and moonlight.

You should have danced more,
laughed more, praised more,
and joked around a bit more.

You are excited though,
hovering there above your discarded body
because it makes more sense to continue
than to become nothing
when you are something—
a spark of God that you dimmed
and brightened depending
on your circumstances and mood.

And, now, you can be fully
who you were meant to be,
who you too often limited
in the realm of fear and time.

@ Tricia Barker, 2019

Spiritually Inspired Poems

/ Tricia Barker, Author of Angels in the OR / Leave a comment

Thank you so much for reading or listening my memoir Angels in the OR and asking me about my poetry.  I’ll be releasing a short collection of poems titled, ‘”The Self, The Other, & God” in 2020.

my redemption

These poems begin with a reflection on our relationship with ourselves. Others come and go from our lives, but we must learn worthiness of the unconditional love of God in order to experience more peace in our lives.

thispast

Bob Proctor says that fear and faith demand that we believe in something that we cannot see. Fear manifests in anxiety while faith manifests in well-being. May you all have more faith than fear. One of the reasons near-death experiencers continue to tell our stories is to strengthen the faith of others who have not journeyed beyond the veil.

joyful

Published Poetry: A Post Mostly for My Students

/ Tricia Barker, Author of Angels in the OR / 13 Comments

quiet-pond

(Update 8/1/2019) My memoir, Angels in the OR: What Dying Taught Me About Healing, Survival, and Transformation, is available as a paperback, e-book and as an Audible.  It launched as a #1 new release in several categories including educator memoirs, survivor memoirs, and near-death experiences.  I hope my book helps make near-death experiences more mainstream.

Poetry, however, was my first love and focus in graduate school. My Creative Writing students sometimes ask to see my published poetry, and I usually wait until the end of the semester to show them any of my work.

I only sent out my poetry between the years of 2006-2008.  Here are a few of those poems.  These poems aren’t representative of some of my larger themes in my writing, but they are the ones that were chosen for publication.

COCKROACH BESIDE MY TOOTHBRUSH

There is meekness in the bow of your head

beneath your curved back,

but even humility and sensitivity

will not save you now.

Do you remember when you

raised your folded wings at right angles

from your abdomen, showing off

the white edgings of your thorax and wing pads?

You trembled for the mate you wanted,

and she looked back at you

as if the moon glowed from inside you.

You believed passion could last forever,

denying that all we have are flashes.

 

Still, you never imagined this ending—

an abandoned condo by a pond,

shadows extending like frail, human arms,

no food or even cereal crumbs in the kitchen,

and only my mint-flavored, disappointing toothbrush

hanging precariously near the edge of the sink.

 

How could you know that surveys

list you as the most despised creature on earth?

How could you possibly deduce

that the angry fall of a boot

he left behind would become

your last moment on earth?

@ 2002 by Tricia Barker

Published in Paterson Literary Review in 2008

crows

THE MAGIC OF CROWS

As the city lights begin to salt the hilltops,

a woman becomes restless; her head is full of the wit

of crows, and her fate is tangled in the act of finding

one of their feathers by her doorstep.  The feather feels light

in her hands, and she wonders which direction it might blow.

From her kitchen window, she observes how the crows

look like pieces of a ragged night scattered

across the final moments of the day.

 

They are the antithesis of stars, with a mystical sheen

of their own and wholly delighted to be crows as they

squawk into each other’s faces, slowly lift one foot into the air,

or dunk their ruffled heads into the dog’s bucket of water.

The woman wonders why her soup does not taste better,

why her skin does not greedily soak up the air around her,

and why these final days of summer do not burst

with the bruised pleasure of black lights, drumbeats,

and a new lover, smelling slightly of tobacco and amber,

a lover who might dip a small, velvety sumi brush

in honey, paint it on her body and then gently lick

it off while black wings flutter in the corner of her eye,

the shimmering, happy bodies of crows.

@ 2006 by Tricia Barker

Published in The Midwest Quarterly (Pittsburgh State University) in 2009

narcissusflower

NARCISSUS IN A RELATIONSHIP

When Narcissus left for work,

I would put on the sandals he wore

to feel closer to him.  My feet would soak up the remnants of the love

he had for his feet, his body,

and after a while, I realized

that in his mind

I was less important

than the ground he walked on.

@ 2006 by Tricia Barker

Published in Iodine Poetry Journal in 2008

The theme in this last poem is an important one for empaths.  Recently, I have discovered the work of breakthrough life coach Lisa A. Romano.  Empaths are often drawn to narcissists in many different capacities.  They can also be the target of sociopaths, so it is important for empaths to learn to protect themselves.  If you are interested in this topic, I highly suggest checking out some of Lisa A. Romano’s YouTube videos.

lotus

 

Images:  The painting of the pond can be found at this link.   I found the beautiful crows on Pinterest at this link.

Love Letter from God

/ Tricia Barker, Author of Angels in the OR / 20 Comments

stars

Dear Everyone,

I’m sorry for all the times you were not loved

by those around you. I’m sorry you were left alone

when all you wanted to do was to make people smile.

It is a shame that others didn’t want your silliness,

your goodness, and your sweetness.

They didn’t see that you were made in my image

and that you are a part of me, a part of God.

 

I’m sorry that you were born with a sensitivity

that should have been protected, a gorgeous sensitivity

that should have been cultivated and honored

but instead was sent harsh words, gaslighted, ignored,

degraded, and abused.  Your trusting nature and openness

was used against you time and time again,

but you met the world like an open flower,

full of love and sunshine. When you learned to close yourself off,

they called you damaged, as if you were

the one who did this to yourself.

 

I’m sorry that people were driven by jealousy, greed,

unchecked rage, fear, and other dark places in their minds.

I’m sorry that they lashed out at you without provocation.

You did nothing wrong.  I’m sorry for their torture

and all the moments afterwards that you carried

shock within you.  As much as I wanted to turn my face away

when people yelled at you, hit you, or otherwise abused you,

I stayed with you and observed everything.

I could never leave you.   I am the life that wants to live,

wants to continue no matter the amount of trauma.

When your world was turned to rubble by fire

and you had only a handful of food,

I was the hand and I was the food.

I was the bird in the sky that made you dream of flight.

 

When people hated you for your religion,

the way you worshiped, your politics,

the color of your skin, your gender, your sexual orientation,

your country, your home, your clothes, your accent, your IQ level,

your school, your car, your age, your optimism, your sadness,

I was never sorry to know you intimately.

I love you without reserve.

 

I’m glad you invited me in when no one else was there.

I’m amazed by your capacity for love and grateful

for all the times you sent swirling,

beautiful energy in my direction.

 

You are the love you give, not the love you receive from others.

I see the love you give and remember it.

This is all that I remember.

I want you to love yourself the way I love you–

exponentially always expanding, infinite in potential.

I love you and want to give you complete peace,

joy, wonder, grace, and a miraculous, triumphant life of love.

© 2016 by Tricia Barker

flower

I also made a video to accompany this letter from God.  For years, I have required students to pick images to accompany some of their writing or another person’s writing on a video presentation.  I enjoyed finally trying one myself.  Here it is!

Poetry Break- “Poem (the spirit likes to dress up)” by Mary Oliver and one of mine

/ Tricia Barker, Author of Angels in the OR / 1 Comment

green-fields-1351063140pg3

Update 1/19/19:  My memoir, Angels in the OR: What Dying Taught Me About Healing, Survival, and Transformation, can be pre-ordered now.  It is a #1 new release in several categories.  I would love it if you helped me make near-death experiences more mainstream.

I’ve always enjoyed Mary Oliver’s nature based themes and spiritual themes.  The last stanza of this poem with the lines, “…lights up the deep and wondrous/drownings of the body/like a star” is gorgeous.  I think of the spirit like that–this beautiful light that lives in form, much to its dismay at times.  The poem of mine is about finding love and peace in simple moments in nature.  Magic happens in the now.

Poem (the spirit likes to dress up)
 
The spirit
  likes to dress up like this:
   ten fingers,
   ten toes,

shoulders, and all the rest
  at night
   in the black branches,
     in the morning
 
in the blue branches
  of the world.
   It could float, of course,
     but would rather
 
plumb rough matter.
  Airy and shapeless thing,
   it needs
     the metaphor of the body,
 
lime and appetite,
  the oceanic fluids;
   it needs the body’s world,
     instinct

and imagination
  and the dark hug of time,
   sweetness
     and tangibility,
 
to be understood,
  to be more than pure light
   that burns
     where no one is —
 
so it enters us —
  in the morning
   shines from brute comfort
     like a stitch of lightning;
 
and at night
  lights up the deep and wondrous
   drownings of the body
     like a star.  
— by Mary Oliver

 

Dreamland

Give me guilt free days in an endless

dreamland of bright green fields—

wild alyssum and newly hatched monarchs

a few feet away from our heavy heads.

We’ll rest on a quilt my grandmother made

and tell each other a few stories from our lives.

Our kisses might lead somewhere later than night,

or not, but our ties to earth and heaven

will be loosened, long enough to breathe

out complicated molecules of our pasts

and create a glorious, enviable,

present tense life.

© 2012 by Tricia Barker

 

 

National Poetry Month and Other Reflections

/ Tricia Barker, Author of Angels in the OR / 14 Comments

rilke

Update on 1/19/19:  My memoir, Angels in the OR: What Dying Taught Me About Healing, Survival, and Transformation, can be pre-ordered now. It is a #1 new release in several categories.  I would love it if you helped me make near-death experiences more mainstream.

National Poetry Month:  To celebrate National Poetry Month, I’m posting “After the Wreck,” a poem published by the Binnacle in 2007 which is inspired from moments during my near death experience.  I’m also including a poem by Rilke from Book of Hours:  Love Poems to God which I adore.

Writing on Morphine:  I wanted to document my NDE as soon as I possibly could.  I stayed in ICU for a few days after surgery, but once I was moved to a hospital room, I asked for a pen and paper. My surgeon confirmed that I had died, but she didn’t feel inclined to talk about the spiritual experience with me.  The nurses were a bit more willing to listen to my experience but most seemed busy and hurried.  Some people only nodded and looked at me strangely when I wanted to talk about the powerful experience of being in God’s presence.

While in the hospital bed and hooked up to a morphine drip, my greatest fear was that I might forget those beautiful moments outside my body. The pain and disorientation made it difficult to write in a straight line, and the words bled down the page.  I persisted in the hope that a few lines would be salvageable and used later. The lines about the angels in this poem were lines I wrote days after the experience.

Memory:  To this day, I remember the vividness of the angels, the light, and the love from the divine intensely.  I’ve never forgotten the experience and the images.  What faded a bit were the direct messages given to me by light.  I remember a lot of what was communicated, but the information flowed into my spirit body so quickly that it was difficult to slow down the information and remember it as specific words.  Mainly, I knew that I had immediately and forever changed in that moment.

Outside of my body, I remember feeling slightly worried for my body as I looked down at the operating table, wondering if I would walk or run again.  The angels assured me that I would have complete healing.  In fact, they assisted in that healing, and my questions were answered not only with information but with demonstration.

Trauma and Forgetting the Beauty of the Light:  I have not forgotten the NDE in the way some dreams are forgotten, but there are times in life when the material world, when trauma, or when stress has overwhelmed me.  When overwhelmed and burdened by life, I can forget the beauty of that moment.  The memory though remains incredibly vivid.

Certainly, the actions of others have startled me, shocked me, and sometimes horrified me.  In my memoir, Healed, I write about being harassed by friend in a writer’s group, raped while living overseas, and beaten up by my first husband.  I thought my life after experiencing an NDE would be pure bliss, and I would live a protected, purely pleasurable life.  This was not my experience, and I wasn’t prepared to write about these traumatic moments until years later. Though I had greater moments of intuition after the NDE, I didn’t always know how to trust or use this intuition.  In those first years after the experience, I also had an almost child-like openness, trust, and belief in others and that trust sometimes put me in close contact with desperate people.

Service and Healing:  When I examine all my experiences together, these experiences sometimes seem like more than one person should have to endure.  However, I have survived and thrived, and I realize others have endured far worse events. Perhaps part of my legacy is to experience the horrors that many women have experienced and to report that what remains after harm has taken its best shot at me is light and hope.  I heard Matt Kahn say something similar about harm in his latest video, and this idea seems accurate to me.  What also remains after the harm is a deep desire to heal myself and to help others heal.  At certain times, I certainly forgot the light and its message.  At other times, I became angry at God on this journey, but I always came back to the belief that I should help others and should remind others of their connection to a loving, forgiving source.

Self-absorption and all too human wishes and desires vanish the moment I ask my students about their lives or when I am of service to others somewhere in this world.  There is no greater way to make the world a better place than to offer help or kindness.  We are freed of ourselves in those moments.  Who knew that freedom from the self would feel so wonderful?  It does though.

AFTER THE WRECK

How could I know that the world would have compassion

and that at the moment of impact my back would crack,

 

but I would retain the sensation of this body, first floating

away from it, then returning, silvered and open-mouthed

 

like a fish caught on the hook of a reoccurring dream,

struggling, flapping about, and jerked up to the surface

 

of a room full of florescence, tiny desires to survive

pulsing through my body in rivulets?

 

How could I know that the angels I recalled from paintings

would become bright, intelligent companions at the end of my bed

 

and that the torrential light from their eyes would answer my questions instantly?

How could I know that this peace would disintegrate like ice chips

 

in my mouth and this calming knowledge would drown in refills of morphine.

How could I know that I would forget specifics in the way we forget dreams?

—Tricia Barker

In these bodies, we are often anxious, but I love how Rilke reminds us that God is around us and in us from the beginning.  Certainly, the light on the other side of this life felt familiar. This light is the same light we have in our eyes as infants, and the same light that comes for us at the time of our death.

I am, You Anxious One

I am, you anxious one.

Don’t you sense me, ready to break

into being at your touch?

My murmurings surround you like shadowy wings.

Can’t you see me standing before you

cloaked in stillness?

Hasn’t my longing ripened in you

from the beginning

as fruit ripens on a branch?

 

I am the dream you are dreaming.

When you want to awaken, I am waiting.

I grow strong in the beauty you behold.

And with the silence of stars I enfold

your cities made by time.

–R.M. Rilke