THE MOVEMENT OF LIGHT
THE MOVEMENT OF LIGHT
BY STRESSLA LYNN JOHNSON
The Movement of Light: Insight to a conscious paradigm shift.
It was not like an earth shaking, mind blowing, revelation or epiphany,
it was more comparable to the occasion when a shadow dissipated
by either a shift in the source of light, or the object blocking the light is shifted.
I understand that shadows are not true darkness,
Shadows are only created when any object blocks the pathway of light.
While processing and reflecting on the recent passing of five of my siblings (four brothers and a sister) in the last six years, I came to understand and accept as joy the passing of loved ones. I realized this is a natural transition that is so engrained in our processes and experiences of living. We can create and develop valuable traditions to experience the passing of our loved ones — to truly celebrate and impart meaning to their time in this physical realm.
The recent introduction to Black Futuristic writing was a shift in a source of light, or the object blocking the light, as it relates to the reality of passing-on. The passing-on of family & loved ones has been represented, described, and defined in a manner that can be limiting in substance and degrees. I don’t even think the name “death” does a good service to the real beauty and joy of the transition for this realm to the next. Is there more to this stage of our life experience beside this idea of grief, suffering, and bemoaning the physical transition of our loved ones?
I am glad to have made human connections beyond the physical confines of the Oregon State Penitentiary (OSP). Connections that have provided creative spaces for the intentional work of redemption and healing of myself: mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and most importantly psychologically. Along the way I have been extremely fortunate to connect with an amazing group of mentors thathave provided immeasurable support, guidance and instructions for success in OSP and beyond. I will not name them all, however,three of them must be given their flowers: WI,TS, and DW.
Working with the Lakota Native American Culture Club and Bridgeworks Oregon, TS, co-director created a writing workshop in Feb-March of 2023. By July 2023, the workshop created and developed this online website, the PonyXPress, to showcase the creative written works of adults in custody. For our latest group assignment to create multiple pieces of thematic writings, I have chosen to write several pieces on the passing away of family and loved ones. Expressing with words, sentences, and phrases the internal feelings that are created in the silence and stillness of reflection, I have found in me a paradigm shift the “grieving”/”Celebrating” process that has taken a progressive turn for the better.
Through writing and the mentorship, I have internalized a working model to process the natural phenomenon of passing on of my family members, friends, and loved ones. There is truly a joyful mechanism on the “grieving” spectrum. So far it has helped me with the passing of five of my siblings in the last six years — four of them in the last three years. Most recently, the passing on of a dear friend.
A Joyful Process Through Pain … Shift.
Star Dust — Recycling
Light dancing across the stillness of silence; The essence of being in transition from being; The spirit reclaimed by the cosmic energy pool;
The celestial songs transport the soul to the eternal dance floor of space and time-continuation of now...
Star-Dust again re-united.
With Out A Lot of Fanfare ...
Define for yourself your mortality.
Create for yourself how to be in harmony with all aspects of living as a human being.
I often wondered why there was so much fanfare around the part of living that is transitional and happens to every single human being.
Grieving is a personal process that for me is a time of celebration and remembrance.
There are more stages to perform on, here on this stage,
the last curtain call deserved that standing ovation.
Will It Still Matter?
Say the words that do not stand still,
or hide between the skills of your articulations. Put those words in a selected sequence and tell the truth about yesterday's harm.
Fold into the center, the tapestry's corners,
to observe the change in the patterns. Say the phrases, that will not be silent,
as the truth emerges, unchanged for healing.
Cee, sea, see
There is a space between the shadows;
Turning, spinning, silent now still.
Water drops. Tear Drops. Rain Drops.
Waiting to become that silence again.
I do remember the half smiles resting
between your words in sentimental piles.
There is a shadow between that space,
now still, silently spinning-turning.
Eye Drops. Snowflakes. Drip-drop.
Your words waiting, again to become quiet.
Shadows over a half smile ... I too remember
a word resting between a space — or just a little while.
Waiting between your Tear Drops and half smiles.
That's Not How It Felt ...
Serving a life sentence-in a mental box, steel-bars, a window without a view, encircled by the 40-foot concrete wall.
The calendars changes with consistency,
that is my reminder of the elements I cannot change ... a distortion of the activities and life beyond the wall. Serving a life with a sentence written in the obituary of loved ones, that could not wait.
Holding on to the memories of words.
Smiles, tears, to cushion my emotional and mental falls ... Serving this life sentence, with a sentence that
I can now send over that wall.
Shelter in Place …
Here it is again that familiar ol' pain.
The news reached me today,
another loved one moved on
without telling my soul.
I sat beside myself, with myself,
to comfort myself, by myself
Looking again in the annuals of time,
for a word, a direction, or maybe even a sign,
that I am not alone.
The news reached me tonight, as I lay still,
under an emotional cloud that refused to call forth rain drops.
Flashes on the spectrum of mourning and grief,
like lighting running through my mind.
Thundering-silence enfolds me in a welcomed embrace.
The news reached me today — with a bulletin that read:
Shelter In Place.
Being On the Move …
I am still again... Alone.
Holding the hands of yesterday.
Shaking. Trembling. Silent. Alone.
Beyond the humming of a distant song.
Trapped. Scared. Unsure. Alone.
The intensity of your memory appears.
Unsummoned. Vivid. Strong. Alone.
The familiar vibration of a soul in flight.
Expanding. Changing. Becoming ...
Going back home.
Why Do I Write Away the Pain?
You may not see the tears moving down my face.
You probably will not feel the tightness in my stomach.
I doubt that you will hear the moaning from my heart.
My fears will not show themselves to you, as shadows appear again.
The empty feeling slowly wrapping around my mind, will not be shared openly-today.
You may be able to understand the unnamed sorrow masquerading as my pain.
She Is ... He Was ... I Am.
Will you write a letter and address it to my soul?
Can you comfort the sadness that is dancing on my heart?
Can you assure me that tomorrow will not remember this day?
Can you shelter my tears until I am better at pretending I'm not in pain?
I am...
Watch The Watch ...
It seems like only yesterday — We ...
were laying on the hard wood floor — Watching ...
Saturday morning cartoons, wrapped in the — aroma ...
of momma's cooking: pancakes, bacon, and eggs — Laughing ...
watching Daffy-Duck plotting some obscure scheme — We ...
seemed to be individually planning our own day — Beckoned ...
to the dining table to nourish our body, for Saturdays are so — long...
The hands of the clock will not matter — We ...
watch the streetlights that will signal it is time to be-home ...
It seems like it was just yesterday, the memories — watching ...
over my spirit and soul as my brothers and sister watch — laughing.
The Measuring Stick ...
It seems like time has quickened its pace.
It may just be the reality that I am getting older.
I contemplate the inescapable actuality of my morality, not with any fear, sadness, or ambivalence,
just an acknowledgment to the preciousness of love, life, and memories.
Embracing the reality of our combined lives that are made from the collective spaces we occupy, while experiencing each other's character, personality, spirit and soul ...
The passing of our loved ones serves as the gauge by which we measure the quality of those experiences ...
It is the time preordained to honor, appreciate, affirm, celebrate,
laugh, cry, remember, expand, while amplifying our love with memories. It seems like time has quicken its pace...
As I continue to acknowledge how precious my memories have become.
“ ... It continues because it must ...”
Reflections For Laughing...
In My Breath ... Exhale.
Maybe I Was Standing Still Watching, Listing,
To The Silence Of A Memory As It Caressed My Soul.
Or Maybe, I Was Moving, Actively, Feeling The Vibrations Of
The Universal Life Force Connecting Me To All That Was, Is And Will Be.
Maybe I Was Dreaming, Caught Between A Multidimensional
Consciousness Of Being, While Waiting To Expand.
There Is The Possibility That All Of These Feelings, Emotions, Thoughts And
Activities Were Just Cosmic Threads Continuously Connecting Me To The
Fabric And Garments Of Family, Friends And Loved Ones.
… It Must Continue Because ...
Just Stopped By To Say I love You ...
I close with a real experience I had on the morning of November 6, 2022. At approximately 8:43 am, a friend of mine out of the blue came to me and said, “Bro Stressla, I got this milk I just took out of the icebox. It is cold and fresh. Would you like some with your cereal?” I said, “No thanks.” And my friend asked me again, if was sure, and that there was plenty. Again, I said, “I'm good, but thanks.” Now my friend persisted in offering me this milk. I finally relented and took the milk, poured it over my cereal and had my breakfast. The fact of this matter, I do not drink pasteurized milk, not that I’m lactose intolerant or anything like that. When I was young (5-6 years old), Wesley had convinced me, and Bonnie too (I think), that milk is not good for you because it spoiled in your stomach. Strangely enough I developed this psychological and mental reaction to drinking milk. I have to get my calcium and vitamin D elsewhere.
But (Behold this Underlying truth), Wesley loved milk, and with me not drinking it, it was more for him. Pretty clever if I must say so myself. Ever since, whenever I attempted to drink milk, it just would not stay down. So, I stopped drinking milk and I haven't drunk it in over 58+ years, however, on the morning of November 6, 2022, after being badgered by my friend, an unaware agent of Wesley, I had the milk. It did not stay down.
About three to four hours later, I was called to the chapel and told that Wesley had passed away that morning. (I am Laughing as I write this.) I am a firm believer in the spiritual realm of energy and the human soul. I know that the energy force that gives life to my collective connection with my brother came to OSP that morning and had me drink one last glass of milk.
More of It...
When I last saw my brother Wesley,
he was standing in the center of the Milky Way
laughing about something.
It started me laughing ... | SLJ
Can you comfort the sadness that is dancing on my heart?
Can you assure me that tomorrow will not remember this day?
Wow! Great words!