I’ll start with caution by saying that it’s still a surprise to me that I have been doing poetry for the last several years and that I have been recognized as a poet. It’s a surprise because I have been a comedian since 16 and five years ago, I went onto a spiritual path that has led me to explore my own healing through ceremonial plant medicine/psychedelics and mindfulness. So now at 33 I have surrendered into my own gifts with regards to the work of holding space.
I can’t tell you about the different genres of poetry or give you a list of the most influential poets in history. I can’t write a poem based on a theme that you give me, or better yet I refuse. My grammar is seemingly nonexistent, my spelling still haunts me, and I never liked English class. Now here’s a few things that I do know…I know timing from doing comedy. I know how things should sound from my love of music. I know what I have seen in my own experiences with psychedelics, love and my relationship with the spirit realm. I know there is some invisible thread from the shamans, mystics, medicine men and women to the song writers, story tellers and poets.
I feel this lineage in a cosmic sense deep beneath my skin. And lastly, I always know where my heart is coming from. This is what gives me the confidence to step on stage along accomplished published poets and academics. I am not going up there to read a poem. I’m going up there to pray.
About two or three years ago when I was at a plant retreat while going through heart break I remember being around the fire with some of the guys and someone asked, “Does anyone know any poems?” My eyes went from staring into an abyss to him as if he just threw me a line to get back. I recited two poems of mine and then the third was Charles Bukowski’s “The Laughing Heart.” I’ll never forget one of my brothers in this community said, “Mike, when you spoke it was like the moon went out.”
As time went on and I kept going to the retreats, I started to then get asked if I could do a poem or two…this would always be spontaneous as the night went on and we were all very much feeling the plant medicine. In the beginning I remember how surprised and curious I was when I’d get asked. I was hyper-aware that I didn’t want to make it seem like I was taking over the space or getting too performative. This is a space I respect dearly; it is holy ground to me. But whether the community knew it or not they helped me get over this. Because every time people asked me, it was as if they gave me an invitation to step more into myself, my power, my own visibility and my own voice. I’ve read that in history, depending on the culture, shamans didn’t bestow that title upon themselves. Instead, they received that title only if their community saw them as such. I feel like my community at those retreats had given me the title of poet (and wizard being another one). Also, I think what surprised me the most was how it made total sense for me to be doing this; it’s a combination of two of my favorite things. Its sharing my words and holding space for people during their experiences. This was a beautiful handshake between the two.
In those moments it felt like the planets aligned.
I think one of the main reasons I was asked if I could write about this is to talk about what it’s like for me when I’m doing poetry for people in such spaces while I too am experiencing the medicine. And since I have been doing this a lot, I’ll try my best to share what it’s like only on my end.
I’ll be somewhere in the space, be it laying down or walking around checking in on people, and someone might bring up that I’m a poet. If it’s a moment where they don’t bring it up, but I feel something energetically calling me to share then I would ask if they would like me to do one for them that feels right based on how they tell me they are doing. I make sure to say it’s just an invitation, so that they can always say no or if they’re not feeling it’s the right time.
But if they do ask then this is what seems to happen. I usually find myself kneeling. I allow a bit of silence (that silence is where my words swim). I gather my mind trusting I will remember the words, and then I take a breath. It’s as if that breath is taking us into this poem, this small pocket of time, this realm, together. There’s no reading and I don’t feel like I’m reciting it…I’m simply allowing it. This may even look like I’m just having a conversation until you notice the words are rhyming. I’ll try to compliment whatever music is playing in the space. I do my best to lock into a pace that feels right for whoever I’m doing this with (not doing this “for” but doing this “with”). I know that like myself, their senses are very much heightened, so I become very aware of the rhythm, when to pause, and how my inflection is while letting my hands feel this energy. I don’t pretend to have any knowledge of what those hearing this are feeling. I can only control my intention. Letting each word out with love and a positive vibration behind it. I can even find myself getting a bit emotional because I am always reliving whatever inspired the poem in the first place.
Depending on the piece I often feel like each line is shedding more of me away…from my skin and my muscles to my bones to my soul and then releasing my spirit into the air. I always see those who I’m doing this with (be it at retreats, poetry mics, senior centers or a one-on-one) close their eyes and have this pleasant restful smile, slowly nodding it’s as if they “know.” It is a knowing that is magical and mysterious. Simply recalling these memories from my point of view, as I’m typing this, is making me tear up. It is an absolute honor for me to do this for people in those moments, and I am so grateful to have been called time and time again to share my words, my offerings. This is my service for my time here in the universe.
So, who am I now? What am I becoming? Comedian? Poet? Healer? Wizard? What the heck is all this?
I think a lot about George Carlin’s 1996 conversation with Charlie Rose. “Arthur Koestler said in The Act of Creation said that sometimes the jester can traverse the triptych. And if the jester says something funny, well, he’s a jester. If he says it in marvelous language that we say ‘oh isn’t that a nice way to put that’ then he’s a bit of a poet. And if there’s an underlying idea underneath the well-put funny line, if there’s a bit of a philosophy there, he comes something else again: a philosopher. Now one doesn’t sit and attempt do that with everything he writes but to know that that’s part of the package, to know that you can do these three things in varying degrees.”
With all that said, I look forward to continuing to honor this path that has found me. And to do my best to allow myself to grow further into this.
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