Archive for May, 2010

The ‘Creative Itch’: A Highly Contagious Malady

May 22, 2010

by Cay Randall-May,   the ‘Healer Who Creates’ 

            If you spend time around writers, musicians, and painters expect to catch the ‘Creative Itch’.  It can’t be cured, but that’s o.k.  This is an affliction you can live with.  In fact, a bout of CI if allowed to blossom into action can facilitate healing on  physical, emotional, and spiritual levels.

            Lots of people have a sub clinical case of CI.  They feel a vague inclination to paint, write, play music, dance, etc., but are able to resist the urge.  The world is a poorer place when this happens.  Thank goodness, even the   wormy apple on the ground under a neglected tree nurtures seeds which can sprout.  Our inspirations are the same.

            Don’t be so hard on yourself if you pass on today’s creative urge.  More of the same stuff is on its way if you have a genuine case of CI.  The infection can be encouraged by reading books like mine, “Healing and the Creative Response”, taking part in writer’s groups, such as the Scottsdale Society of Women Writers, belonging to and actually attending meetings of the Arizona Artists’ Guild, or visiting a museum, concert, or play. 

            In fact, CI is a cure, not a  dis-ease.  It helps bring us into balance by allowing our innermost thoughts and emotions to be expressed.  In future blogs I would like to chat a bit with you about how to take action on your ‘Creative Itch’.

POETRY AS GRIEF THERAPY

May 13, 2010

 

by Cay Randall-May, Ph.D., the Healer Who Creates

    On May l, 2010, I attended a Survivors of Suicide (SOS) conference held in Phoenix, Arizona, facilitated by Stuart Smith of The Link Counseling Center in Atlanta, Georgia.  As part of his all-day presentation, Smith led the group of approximately 100 participants in an exercise intended to help us process our grief through poetry. 

    He directed us to write down words at random while listening to a brief selection of semi-classical music.  When the music stopped and each person had a list of words, he suggested that we form them together into a poem. 

    Several people volunteered to read their poems to the group.  They presented a range of  iambic pentameter, free verse, loose association prose poems.  Each poet had heard the same music but responded from their depths to craft a uniquely healing composition. 

    Here is mine created in that very brief period.  It’s a fragment, not polished, but an example of how the ‘creative response’ which I describe in my book, “Healing and the Creative Response” (Brooks Goldmann Publ., 2010) can be used.

Through window framed

by frosty moonlight

silver sails seek safe harbor

against restless surf.

Over a kaleidoscope of  slick stones

I stumble through shimmering dunes

With shredded maroon velvet hem

Cascading through memories’ dream prism.

POETRY AS GRIEF THERAPY

May 13, 2010

By Cay Randall-May,  the Healer Who Creates 

    On May l, 2010, I attended a Survivors of Suicide (SOS) conference held in Phoenix, Arizona, facilitated by Stuart Smith of The Link Counseling Center in Atlanta, Georgia.  As part of his all-day presentation, Smith led the group of approximately 100 participants in an exercise intended to help us process our grief through poetry.  

    He directed us to write down words at random while listening to a brief selection of semi-classical music.  When the music stopped and each person had a list of words, he suggested that we form them together into a poem. 

    Several people volunteered to read their poems to the group.  They presented a range of  iambic pentameter, free verse, loose association prose poems.  Each poet had heard the same music but responded from their depths to craft a uniquely healing composition. 

    Here is mine created in that very brief period.  It’s a fragment, not polished, but an example of how the ‘creative response’ which I describe in my book, “Healing and the Creative Response” (Brooks Goldmann Publ., 2010) can be used.

Through window framed

by frosty moonlight

silver sails seek safe harbor

against restless surf.

Over a kaleidoscope of  slick stones

I stumble through shimmering dunes

With shredded maroon velvet hem

Cascading through memories’ dream prism.