Kieva

Kieve Campbell

I have been thinking about the path of my blog. I ask all of my clients that they put themselves on the line and allow their hearts to open. I, too, must do the same. I am approaching the dawning of my daughter’s 18th birthday and high school graduation. With this, a flurry of feelings is coursing through me. I chose to express my deepest self, the part of me that is a mother, with you. May this inspire you to be open with your hearts as well.

Kieva

The first day of the Rodney King riots.
My city alight with 4,000 fires
phone lines down, sirens blaring.
Me grunting with each contraction, at home
awaiting your arrival.

I knew you before I conceived you.
I dreamed you were coming.
I dreamed your name.
Kieva.
Kiev, Russia, from where much of my family hails.
Eva, my beloved mother’s name.
Six weeks before you were conceived,
I knew you were coming.

Fair like my mother.
Freckled like my father’s aunts
a shock of dark hair.
I feared we would go down with those fires
that we might not live to know each other.

Kieva, born to a father who left me pregnant.
Born to legal battles over custody and visitation.
Born to my broken heart of what could have been
and wasn’t.

You were observant, quiet and sensible.
Your reasonable thinking
paired with my whimsy.
We were inseparable those first few years.
I wanted to give you the world
all that was beautiful and secure.
Together we summoned Joshua from the ethers
to call you his own
to step in as your daddy.
His dark hair like yours
His big brown eyes
an imprint of you.

We grew together as family.
But life was never easy for you.
Disappointments were magnified
people’s limits-painful.
Until your life with us was unmanageable.

As a family, we made the sacrifice.
Sent you across country
to school
where life was more precious, the pace slower.

My heart, hacked out of its cage
the remaining cavity with nothing to fill it.
The emptiness unbearable.

I missed your first date, dressing for the prom
Holding you when you cried from life’s injustices.
That time, never recaptured.
Gone for good.

Your 18th birthday and high school graduation dawn.
My baby-my woman child.
How the years have forced me
to unsink my claws from your flesh
to wrest my tangled dreams from your hair
To free you from my hopes for you.

Letting go has been brutal.

It sears like the Sahara sun on my northerly skin,
with each blister, the promise of insight.

Oh how wisdom hurts at times.
Oh, how it hurts.

Diary of a Mad Healer

Finally, after much delay or shall I say resistance, I am launching my website. As apart of the total web experience, I have decided to include a blog. I’m not sure at this point how frequently I will blog as I am so completely far from the experience of writing with any ease.

I decided, rather spontaneously and with no real contemplation, to title it “Diary of a Mad Healer.” I knew somewhere in my memory that there was something called “Diary of a Mad Housewife” but I had no idea whether it was a movie, a T.V. show, a novel or a saying from something. So, of course, in my exuberant fashion and following an inner lead, (which is another way of saying that I leap without looking), I researched “Diary of a Mad Housewife” after I signed up for my blog with my chosen title. I found out it was a 60′s novel that had been turned into a movie about a wealthy, socially prominent yet unhappy married woman and all of her pathos. As I watched a 6 minute clip on YouTube, the first word to cross my mind was “eiuw.” Then I thought how perfectly it fit into the premise for my blog and hence the chosen title. The juxtaposition of the two words mad and healer are what interest me.

After looking up “madness” in the Encarta World English Dictionary and finding the definition, I knew I had chosen the perfect title for my blog. Here is the definition:

“Madness (n) 1. Offensive term for psychiatric disorder 2. Rash or thoughtless behavior 3. Great anger or fury 4. Great enthusiasm or excitement.”

The Encarta World English Dictionary defines healer as this:

“somebody who cures or treats illnesses or injuries, often using spiritual rather than scientific methods.”

This definition alone doesn’t cause me any discord. It is my assumption on how the world sees healer that rattles me. Here are some thoughts that get conjured up in my mind in association with that word; conscious, conscientious, at peace, never losing her temper, open-minded, non-judgmental, secure, faithful, connected to God, vegetarian, sugar avoider, non-smoker, healthful eater, no baggage etc. Well…I may be all of those things some of the time but I am none of those things all of the time with the exception of non-smoker.

Some time ago I was reading about Mother Teresa only to find out that she had a whole set of barely published letters of doubt. At the time that struck me as surprising from such a pious woman who devoted her life to the service of God. Here is an excerpt from a letter written to her church spiritual guides. “I am told God lives in me — and yet the reality of darkness and coldness and emptiness is so great that nothing touches my soul.” The Archbishop Henry D’Souza was quoted as responding to this letter by saying that Mother Teresa was “both holy and human” making her even more special.

That is the foundation of my work, that we are both holy and human and that by first embracing our humanity (our doubts, fears, hurts and angers) can we then step into our holiness. I devote this blog to my humanity and my own journey towards becoming whole by including all that I am, that which I love and despise about myself and life with the hope it can inspire you in your journey towards wholeness.

Peace and Blessings (and the occasional pissy attitude and good chunk of chocolate),

Freyda