My thoughts and feelings about Facebook are always evolving.
Currently I think of it as a kind of porch where I can relax and have “friends” drop in and chat. – http://joanvinallcox.ca/facebook-my-porch/
Author: joanvinallcox
Joan Vinall-Cox, Ph.D. is a lifelong learner, retired communications professor, and rabid reader who has taught in both the college and university systems.
Her Ph.D., in 2004 was an Autoethnographic Arts-Based Narrative Inquiry focused on moving from technophobia to technophilia.
She is a widow from a pretty happy marriage and a mother to a strong and kind daughter.
Her interests include Centering Prayer, Multiple Intelligences, Attention Deficit Disorder and its connection to creativity, Jung, Campbell’s Monomyth, and Arts-Based Narrative Inquiry.
You Are Who You Are
You are who you are
because of
and despite
your mother.
You are who you are
because of
life’s surprises
and how you felt them.
You are who you are
because of
what you have grasped
and avoided.
You are who you are.
Coffeeshop Conversation
Air-conditioned coffee shop,
conversations bleeding into
silent tables,
voices speaking about conceptions
of God
or meditation
And addictions.
And relationships.
I want to interrupt
but don’t.
I wonder if I
arrived here
drawn
by those invisible connections
The Enlightenment
has denied me.
unprotected dreams
I have unprotected dreams
late at night
with strangers
searching through my metaphors
to find the weapons
I’ve buried
and attack.
Before the Alarm
In the morning, I run words in my head,
To see if they fit together,
To see if they flow.
Sometimes I reach for my keyboard.
Time
In youth we come through our bodies as explorers
Seeking and measuring
Astounded and disappointed
As we grow into ourselves.
In our long midlife, we travel our path
Forgetting and wandering
Sometimes grateful, mostly blindly seeking
The more we yearn for.
Now, our bodies re-astound us
Aching and refusing
Complaining and attacking
Reminding us of time.
Time
In youth we come through our bodies as explorers
Seeking and measuring
Astounded and disappointed
As we grow into ourselves.
In our long midlife, we travel our path
Forgetting and wandering
Sometimes grateful, mostly blindly seeking
The more we yearn for.
Now, our bodies re-astound us
Aching and refusing
Complaining and attacking
Reminding us of time.
Christmas Wrong
Christmas is a time of
difficulties and disappointments,
Santa failures
And other losses.
The dogs of hope
snap at the turkey bits
they’ve been whining for
and drop them, snarling.
Joys are seen
backwards in mirrors:
coloured lights on others’ houses
as I drive away.
And yet …
and yet in the darkness
some small light, hidden,
that I can hold
And nurture.
Questions
What does it mean
to love yourself –
other than the herky-jerky
I’m okay; I am okay; I am okay?
What does it mean
to be compassionate with yourself
other than accepting the lust for
more chocolate, more wine, and even the occasional secret
cigarette?
What does it mean; what does it mean?
Who am I
and why do I want
to know this?
What does it mean?
Paris, November 13, 2015
I have a horror
hangover:
a surfeit of tv dribbles
repeating;
the images and words
addictive
and numbing.
To look away, to change the channel,
I switch to a story of plotted
murder where the killer
is named and blamed
and hunted and destroyed.
When I can’t resist looking back,
the bodies still
lie on the street.
Learning Living 