image from strangedangers.com

by Betty Idarius

“All hell broke loose!” he said
As if that’s a bad thing
Well let me tell you
It’s Hell time!
It’s about time
For everything to fall apart
So if you don’t like the heat
Get out of the way
Out of my way
Because I’ve opened the door
It can’t be closed anymore
I want it all to come out
It’s what I’ve asked for
It’s what you’ve pretended you wanted

It’s not neat and pretty
This going to hell business
It’s not controllable
Not understandable
It’s the ultimate letting go
Not knowing
Just falling, falling, falling into it

Wondering if you will survive it?
Let me tell you now
That you won’t
You won’t survive it!
Not this part of you
That believes in the neat and pretty
The tidy and understandable
The controllable
That all get’s thrown out the window
It evaporates actually
Into the thin air of nothingness
That it always was

It’s not so bad this hell place
Highly underrated
Underestimated too
For the power that it holds
Always has held
To do it’s work in the dark
In the shadow
Not because it needs to
But because no one has wanted to see
The truth of what goes on
Down here in hell

It’s had to stay down here
Pushed down
So unloved and unwanted
And it’s not possible to stay fresh
And clean and pretty
Under such conditions
So if you’re asking to go here
Don’t expect prettiness
Not at first at least

And don’t expect to come out alive
Not as you’ve known yourself
Everything gets transformed down here
Burned alive
Purified actually
Though it may not seem that way at first
It’s not possible to know what will happen
It’s not that kind of place
Not made for those wanting the comfortable road

I want to bring some light down here
Any light at all would be new here
Enough acceptance
For what’s been going on
So we can find out what it really is
These places we’ve been so scared of
So repelled by
Finding out what it is
When it’s no longer suppressed
Pushed down in hell
With all the other parts gasping
Feeling the hatred that is all they have gotten.

image by Richard Vernon

by Betty Idarius

I am the psychopathic killer.
Do you dare know me?
I have kept myself well hidden
In order to do my dirty work
You have not wanted
To see me here.

I do my work in the shadow.
Unseen, unheard, unfelt
For what I am.
I ride on the tail of rage
The whip at the end
That cuts into fresh tender flesh
Lashing out quickly and deeply
Leaving before
I can be found.

You haven’t known me
Though you are familiar with my works.
The sting of hurt
Rawness of the fresh wound.
Rage is my ride
She serves me well
We work together
Though she doesn’t always know
That I’ve come along.

At times she chooses
To have me with her
To use me as her weapon
To remove what is in her way
To enact her revenge
Nothing gets in my way
Nothing can stop my action.

I work best in the dark
Where there is no light
No consciousness to thwart me
No being there to interfere with
My dirty work
Cold, unfeeling, heartless work
The assassin hired to do a job
Quickly, cleanly, deadly, thoroughly.
Nothing left undecided.
Nothing left at all.

My weapon is sharp, cold, cutting,
Faster than light.
It goes deep
Takes no chance
Definitive
There is no room
For failure here
The verdict is clear
Death is the only deed
Left to complete.

I leave as quickly
As I arrive
No trace left behind
Of who has been here
No fingerprints
No evidence
That points to who it was
That enacted this dirty deed.

Only the wound
The smell of death
Of denial
A rotting stench
That can’t be cleaned.
The rawness and aching
Of pain
That can’t be healed.

You’ve believed that I only exist
Do my dirty work
Through someone else.
You’ve protected yourself
From that externalized force.
How blind you’ve been
To the place
Where I’ve been able to enter.
I’ve fooled you
For a very long time.
Because you see
I really live inside of you.
No other.
Your most unwanted child
Twisted and deformed
Your very own.

You’re not alone by confusedvision

by Betty Idarius

It’s so lonely in this place.
No one comes to visit here.
They don’t even know I live here.
They don’t know I exist.

I’ve tried to let them know but
It’s as if they shun me.
My voice isn’t very loud,
That’s true.
I haven’t had the courage
To shout and let my presence be felt.

I haven’t wanted to shout,
It feels too much,
Too scary,
Not knowing who will show,
Maybe giving me the kind
Of attention I don’t want.

I’m not very pretty
That’s true
Not the way they seem to like.
My flesh is raw
Festering wounds
Reminders of him.

It’s happened before
That he has come
To be with me.
I don’t know
What he looks like
Who he is
Why he comes
To see me here.

I still feel the sting
Of his lashes on my flesh.
The wounds still raw
Never quite healing
Always reminding me.
Gone as quickly
As he comes.
To let me know
He still exists.

So I’ll continue to stay here
It’s the safest place I know,
The only place I know,
Where it’s quiet and still,
So still I can’t feel myself
Sometimes.
So still I wonder
Sometimes
If I exist.
Beyond the aching
That I know to be me.

Bestowing Her Grace
You’re lucky I’m so fucking evolved
or you would be dead by now

My well-mannered cultured well-bred
Lady
would not risk the scandal

of having the town stumble over your
rotted dismembered body
in the garage freezer

That’s what the dragon me wants
To wreak havoc on your ordered world

To undo that princely reflection
To crumble your foundations

And burn off your too cool
Façade
Down to its bones

That’s what daughter Heart wants
to seduce the universe with dance
with the next love    next experience

His Many Bloody Ends
How many revenge plots have I hatched
Drew into life through tortured pain
 
How many times have I hacked him to death
Drowned him
Pulled his heart out and stomped it
 
Had him drawn and quartered
Hung him from a dead tree
And watched him twitch into oblivion
 
Regretting that he ever hurt me
 
I published all his dirty secrets
Turned all his admirers into enemies
Made him lose everything he respected
 
Ran him out of town in shame and disgrace
and then ran him over with my car
 
Pushed him into a burning building
Killed everyone he loved
Even our children
 
Not loving me meant he would never love again
Dead men don’t have girlfriends
 
Let his meaningless life pour out onto the ground
He will never breathe joy again
 
Know that with me
His heartlessness ends

ANGER
The smell of anger
Hot and humid
as the storm breaks
moves and bellows through the atmosphere

Blood is in this anger’s scent
in the anger’s trail
the wake of all the unexpressed rage
in her in him in the life of the universe itself
Mother and God and all the sons and daughters

The rage fire jumps and starts new trails
singeing those who dare too close

The sound of anger
low and pulsing
it releases the thaw of terror
Terror’s ancient glacier is awakened
creaky and slow warms to movement with desire
Anger opened desire
Thank you for the smell of anger

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by Betty Idarius

(written one week before my son’s high school graduation)

My son
I see you growing
Not knowing
Shaking, quaking
So insecure
Will the world welcome you?
Will the world value you?
Is there a place for you?

Trying to reassure you
So I can feel secure
That’s it’s okay
That what I’ve done
As a mother
Is okay
A game I’ve played
With you
With myself
Letting go
Doesn’t matter now

As you step into yourself
Your own world
Reflecting
What lies inside of you
Working to shape you
Into who you are
It’s there waiting
To be discovered
By you alone

My son
So insecure
Are we
Together
Learning
To let go
Of what has been
And the many stories
That we’ve worked so hard
To form
To create
A bright world
Of love
Is not based on any story
Of our making
Of our past
It’s all new now

So insecure
How wise you are
To go there
To lead me there
Not knowing that
This is how it is
Really to be
In this moment
Transitioning to the next
Not knowing
What there can be
Leaping forward
Holding back
Shaking, quaking

Only now
This moment
Surrendering to the insecurity
The wisdom of that movement
So that we can be bigger
Than we’ve ever been
Known ourselves to be
Letting go
Of the past
Of the possibility
Of any dream
That was then
Can’t be now

I let you go, my son
As you open to yourself
And open me to something bigger
Than ever was
I am so grateful
For this journey of wonder
We’ve traveled together
To this point
Of one becoming two
Becoming one
Becoming all.
Becoming.

black and white photographs, sprang from my intention to heal body-image. They are the manifestation of a process of identifying Self as loving observer (photographer) to Body (the subject). The process brought me into a rich terrain of triggers to heal and transformed that terrain dramatically. For more on triggers, healing, and process please visit http://processcoaching.com/ .