Tag: Thinking

Culture Cocoon: Metamorphical Grief

I want to be in #turkiye, #india, or #dubai right now. Curled up in a hotel bed while the sounds of mosques and temples whirl around in the air outside my window as I write poetry. That’s all. That’s all I’m asking.

I am longing for the other side of the planet 🥺

Tomorrow will be 30 days since my mother passed and I still don’t feel like myself. I just want the space and the distance and the cradle of a new culture to comfort me as I immerse myself into an abysmal depth of poetry writing, shadow work, reflection, and introspection. The cocoon is of course an unfamiliar place to the caterpillar. It is foreign. And just as the caterpillar emerges from the alien place of cocoon so I want to melt inside some foreign landscape until my transformation is complete and I’m ready for a new journey with a new physicality. I want so desperately to go from crawling to flying.

Sadness is a universal language. It is understood with the eyes & felt with the heart. Whether the language is Turkce, Punjab, or Arabic a great deal of communication & connection can take place without ever speaking the first word when it comes to this common rite of passage of all humanity.

My mother….she is now….away. And, I want to be as well.

I want away….from here. I need….to be there. Not here. And, I suspect even this simple need is yet another mirror…..

Love, Cozett

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No Water For The Wolves

Lying in the silence. All is black around me save my phone and wifi light. And all I can think about is how my mother’s death is stirring in me an even greater fire and resolve to be living light. I want my light to shine into the cosmos and to be a home to every human without exception.

I want to be….wide, long, deep, tall, ever expanding light, warmth, and peace and safety.

I want my table to extend into the nations.

Where there is light people feel seen, where there is light there is clarity, there is life, there is strength, and hope.

In a world filled with humans who despise what they don’t get, fear what they can’t understand, and murder either with their thoughts or hands those who are divergent…..I want to be different.

Love is beautiful anarchy

Light is the epitome of rebellion against darkened understanding

Brilliant bright light so the world can see
Recklessly loving us all into anarchy

While the planet is threshed wheat from tare
I’ll gather and glean to me those in despair

It is enough for those standing accepted in the sun
To carry the status of a chosen one

I’ll cast my lot with the vagabond parade
I vomit at the charity of pretentious charade

Babylon, Babylon, can’t you see she’s imploding?
Or are your ears deafened from your own gloating?

Superiority, elitism, white washed graves
Their throats lie open like wilderness caves

But they won’t catch me or mine
Unbeknownst to them we are made of brine

And, I refuse to give them water…

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The Surest Compass: A Mourner’s Song

Through the canopy of humidity and trees
The sunlight shines and seems to beckon me

From the moss covered wooden bench I lifted my gaze
Unsure how long I’d sat in a heated daze

A hawk crossed the opening as I looked to the sky
A helios portal just wide enough I could see her fly

My eyes burned from my briny forehead drip
As sweat beaded upon my upper lip

My heart beat slow but hard within my chest
As I wondered was it the hawk or me who arrived as a guest
On my journey I grew overwhelmed and had to pause to be seated on the path below
And From her flight path she saw my summer-flushed face aglow

It occurred to me in this moment we had arrived at the same place and the same time
There was a lesson for us both revealed in this rhyme

A profound revelation bubbled up from the spring of my root
The point had emerged from cocoon and was no longer moot

A matter became a lesson birthed from synchronicity
Progress on one’s path requires complicity

Comply with soul lest it leave you be
And follow your knowing like the wise growth of a tree

Rage against the dying of the pure light of innocence
Turn to mother nature with organic penitence. 

She will open portals amongst interwoven branches and limbs
Her winged messengers timing aren’t based on whims

The whole of the wild is a natural mirror
And immersed in its bramble we learn to see clearer

The irony of the ironic
Is the best medicine I’ve swallowed

It’s an antivenom kind of tonic
That breaks us free from what we’ve wrongly followed

The lesson wrapped rhyme is as simple as this
No matter your path the surest compass is bliss.

© Cozett Dunn July 10th, 2023

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Cozett Contemplates: Your Write To Heal…

Cozett Contemplates writing to heal trauma…

For trauma survivors it’s hard to feel like you can ever again be fully safe. High-alert is a constant state of being. And, appearing relaxed and “normal” becomes a survival skill.

This has been one of my most honed life skills. I learned early on that to show disquiet…distress…or to speak out…would rock the boat. The fact is, is that when people become uncomfortable…things slow down as they try figure out:

1. What’s wrong with the person who’s upset?
2. How do I feel about what I’m hearing and seeing from this traumatized person?
3. Do I believe what I’m being told by this person?
4. How can I help in ways that won’t disrupt my own life?
5. Should I reach out to others to aid me if I help this person?
6. Are there problems too much for me and should I just keep moving and trust someone else will help?

These are just a few of the processes people sort through when thinking about how to help the traumatized.

As you can see not only are trauma survivors sorting through a lot of emotions and questions but so are those with whom we open to.

Because of all those processes and the time and energy it takes I decided as a child that I wouldn’t seek help. I couldn’t waste energy getting rejected over and over by people who didn’t have the capacity to hold space for me. I needed that energy to keep moving. Because life doesn’t stop. Even for the wounded.

As I’ve sojourned into middle-age and resolved to become more authentic, unapologetic, shameless, proactive, and courageous….I face the challenge that vulnerability brings.

Vulnerability, even for non-traumatized individuals is hard. But, as someone who has known what it is to be stripped bare of any ability to trust and feel safe it is especially…hard. I know I’m not alone with this?

This is the original reason I began to write to begin with. It was never because I thought I was good at it, or because it was a hobby for my free time. It was never because I had writing peers or was part of a book club or even a poetry lover! If you know my poetic soul that may seem surprising. 😆

I began to write because there weren’t enough tears. I couldn’t cry enough to even come close to releasing and processing all I’d been through and was going through.

I had so much pent up pain and agony that I needed the entirety of my being to release and cry as much as I did it just wasn’t cleansing me.

So I took to my keyboard. While hot tears streaked my face the fire of my words set ablaze my laptop and phone screens.

I held nothing back. There was no person who could hold space for me….so I created my own space. Private. Free from scrutiny. And it was as wide and as long and as endless as my pain.

My writing space could hold everything. And therefore it could hold me.

I want to encourage you today, if you’re a trauma survivor to know that even when humans can’t hold space for you…that there is a wide open and endless space available to you that can be curated by and for you.

Maybe you’re not looking to publish but you would like to heal? And you’d like to not do that alone?

I’m offering spaces for you. If you’d like to write to heal…alongside me….I’d be honored to hold, share and lead that space.

Reach out to me if this sounds like something your soul is calling for and together we will create the space for you to be held, seen, understood.

I love you. I really do.

Cozett Dunn

#cozettcontemplates #traumasurvivor #writingtherapy #lifecoach #author #healer #traumahealing #traumarecovery #traumainformed #mentalhealthmatters

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The Energy Of Obligation: First Vacation In 11 years

I just got home from Perdido Key, FL in the US. It was only 4 nights but it’s the first real vacation I’ve had since 2012.

I am…home. But. I experience myself as a citizen of Earth. So, I am here….but will always be….there….and there…and over there as well….

Being in my apartment in Hixson…isn’t my dwelling time. It is a pause to rest then plot my next course. Which could be Thailand, India, Europe, Florida…who knows. All I know….is my soul is nomadic.

My sweet little mamaw told me the other day, “I’m so surprised. Shocked really. You never grew up traveling. We never did any traveling. It seems odd. But, I’m happy for you. I just want you to be safe. You’re braver than I am. Just be careful.”

There are few things in my life that…facilitate….me being able to fully feel any experience other than suffering.

One of those things is travel. It’s the only time I am fully happy. And, because this trip was the first vacation I’ve had since 2012 that I haven’t had to work and respond to calls, emails, texts, and more, I was able to finally release my phone without giving into fear of “letting someone down because I’m not immediately available to them.”

I’ve lived an on-call lifestyle 7 days per week since 2012. Sit with that. It’s emotionally devastating.

The energy of obligation even if you’re not fielding a bunch of calls….still depletes your energy stores, your joy isn’t full, your happiness is laced with dread, and some of my trips were absolutely ruined by customers or clients who chewed me out during vacation.

Sit with that. That’s freakin hard. A single woman who doesn’t have a college education. Who has multiple health issues that won’t allow for a 40 hour per week clock job without getting fired due to chronic conditions. Yet, not sick enough to qualify for any assistance.

The entirety of my life before 44 years old has been quite unkind.

I deserve the next 44 (plus) to make up for every tear I’ve cried, for every panic attack I’ve spiraled out of control, for every ER visit, for every expensive therapy session (that I really couldn’t afford).

I deserve the rest of my time here to make up for every man who has cheated on me, lied to me, compared me to other women, talked down to me, bet against me, body shamed me, mentally and verbally abused me, and abandoned me.

We are more than a social media feed. There are definitive reasons behind the decisions people like me make that do not make sense to, or offend others.

And, for those shortsighted or selfish enough to not think through the possible reasons I am (or you are) not meeting their needs…then maybe they deserve the discomfort of the decision I (or you) made. Maybe my lack of presence (or yours) will be the catalyst they need….to awaken. To understand that just because they are a: client, customer, family member, friend, etc. That their role in your life, whether it be personal or professionally based….does not preclude you from being autonomous….WITHOUT REPERCUSSION.

Because, let’s face it. When someone “punishes” you or myself by taking away their business, or freezing you out of the family or a friendship….that is in a nutshell….manipulation. An intentional willingness that gets off on causing those with less leverage in this life….to suffer.

More on this some other time. But, I’ve said all of that to say this…personal power is a right. And just because you enjoying your autonomy makes someone uncomfortable or feel some kind of way…is no sign that you have to betray yourself in an effort to keep them approving of you.

So much more is coming. Stay tuned.

Cozett Contemplates

#cozettcontemplates #thecatalystpodcast #autonomy #personalpower #relationshiprevolution #travel #travelblogger #traveltheroad #thejourney #lifepath #perdidokey #perdidokeyflorida #pensacola #sunset

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The Haunting Resonance Of The Grit: Grungy Motels And Why I Can’t Resist Them

Traveling is one of my greatest passions. There has yet to be a greater rush for me that confirms I am indeed alive.

Travel challenges me. It is an epic (and I mean this in the literal sense of the word) vehicle for shadow work, soul-searching, and, self-discovery. The profundity I encounter is always trajectory shifting. Mind-blowing. Salvific. Paradigm shattering. And, oh soooooo endearingly sweet.

I do mostly solo travel, and if there is 1 regret I have from this, it is that I have these most profound moments alone. I live my life nearly entirely unwitnessed. And while my life isn’t opulent (yet), it is worthy of being witnessed. I’ve transformed and moved through some pretty awe-inspiring shit. I want so much for someone to see it with me. See….me with me. See the grit and feel it with me so that I can tell my stories about the black grainy gravel that made its home beneath my fingernails for a while.

I want to share how and why I find such a haunting and somewhat macabre peace when I stay in a dirty, shady motel. For one thing….the energetic imprints in these types of motels are downloaded onto my psyche like an old school record and needle. By feeling the grooves, I hear the song. It’s like preternatural braille. The imprints tell me their stories without words or any sort of audio. I seem to somehow “know” and “feel with” the room I stay in and the lobby I occasionally venture into.

Would I prefer to be in an all-inclusive 5-star resort?? You betcha. But I don’t yet feel a resonance with that atmosphere. I suppose that’s because I’ve always fluctuated between lower middle class and poverty. But, for the sake of adventure, I hope that will soon change so I can know what it feels like to resonate with the opulence and unadulterated relaxation that I actually need.

At any rate, I wanted to share a picture of where I am tonight. March 13th, 2023, at 12:42 am. I am at the Super 8 Wyndham motel in College Park, GA. Hartsfield-Jackson is adjacent. And I have been plane spotting while here. That is another rush for me. I can’t get enough of lift-offs. I find resonance in them as well. More on that some other time.

But this motel….it’s rough, hahaha. I saw a 10 year old boy across the street at Food Mart dealing drugs. I have just begun writing this post after calling on the angels for him. But, 10 years old. Wow. I was around drugs but thankfully wasn’t doing or dealing them at that age. There’s always someone who’s had it worse. Perspective.

I can’t resist these places because when I walk in and I see how the rooms are half dilapidated and should be condemned but it also looks like some upgrades have begun….it is my mirror. Half-dilapidated yet under construction. Hints of mildew in rusted showers. Carpet that smells like mango perfume but makes the bottom of your feet look like you’ve stepped in soot. A king sized bed wrapped in so many cases and sheets with decent pillows yet when you lie in it you find yourself rolling to one side because it has some weird hump in the middle that isn’t visible but can be felt once you’re stretched across it.

But, the mirror looks new. The mini fridge works. And the night stands look new. In the words of William, The Worm, in the movie, “Labyrinth,” “Oh,well. Close enough.” It is in that spirit I exhale in the darkness that now surrounds me knowing that although I’m in a strange and gritty place, I’m also in a place that feels familiar. And, even though this motel gets 2 stars with one review stating a guest left because as they were checking they encountered an Atlanta Homicide team and on their way back to their car walked past a coroner vehicle, there is strangely still comfort in familiarity. An understanding. And of course…this unwitnessed moment that no one will ever see….but me.

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The Intrigue Of Our Ignorance

Self-aware
Unconscious upheavals

I repose in my hermit’s lair
Wondering at the evils

I have only questions and sincere curiosity
Pearls before swine is fake luminosity

Biologically pathological
Hypnotically illogical

The passers-by on the street both intrigue me and concern me.

Ontologically astrological
Neurologically cosmological

What do our psyches share?
Your sinister glare driven by need
My awkward stare trying to get a read

Do I even belong here?  I think not.
If that were so I’d cast my lot

But as it is and as it’s always been
I live on the outside looking in

As it was and as it is now
I live from the inside out as evidenced by my furrowed brow

I don’t understand.  I really don’t.  But, let me heap some cognitive dissonance upon these sentiments.  There there.  All better now.

Who does? You may ask.  As we pass around the delusion flask.

None of its real is it?  “Of course it is!” You laugh.  As our teacher talks backwards drawing a nursery rhyme graph.

I sit and quietly think, “what is one to make of all this??”  It’s like living in the film, “Rabbits, or The Matrix, or the old school “Clash of the Titans.”

We really are going there?  Our continuum has found its chiasm.  And we are plunging into irony.  Each side thinking of the other, “the joke is on you.”

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Cozett Contemplates The Undreamed

Cozett Contemplates the undreamed…

As far back as I can remember self-inquiry has been one of the most powerful trailblazing tools I’ve ever utilized.

Everyday we move through our thought lives and external routines by our subconscious assessment of a predictable future & a well-rehearsed past.

Maybe we’ve been on our jobs 15 years and in the back of our mind we know we will get the opportunity to retire soon. Or, perhaps we have always been unlucky in love and based on our previous patterns it looks only logical that our future will likely not include the partner we want.

Now, let’s talk about how we dare to dream…anyway.

In spite of our predictable future and the likelihoods that seem will inevitably play out as our path unfolds it is only human nature to hope for better. To dream for more. To want more even if it doesn’t seem that “more” can happen for us.

My question to myself today…and to you…is “what have I not dreamed of yet?”

If you have a vision board or practice affirmations then you likely have at least a vague picture of what your ultimate desires are.

But, what about exploring the “undreamed?”

Here I’ll talk about what I’m including into the big picture of what I know myself to be gravitating toward.

First, I have to acknowledge Margo Holder for the words of not just wisdom but adventure that she has always said to me when I’ve catastrophized about my life. Those words, “anything can happen.” The very essence of this concept is rooted in the quantum field of endless potential. Meaning it is entirely scientifically, mentally, emotionally, and realistically appropriate to BELIEVE THE BEST
& to open wide your nervous system to the exhilaration that can only be found in the willingness to indulge in adventure.

Things I’ve dreamed of:

1. Financial security that enables me to create multiple humanitarian organizations.

2. Wealth without work

3. Love without effort

4. Travel without restraint or restriction

I put absolutely NO cap on how outrageously above and beyond these particular things can be fulfilled. Multiple humanitarian organizations?? That’s likely going to be too small in comparison as to how that dream actually comes true.

I have become granular in my focus on how I want my life to look going forward.

But, what have I not dreamed of yet? What part of the human spectrum has my imagination not wandered yet?

It is the undreamed that I’m looking for today. The undreamed is ultimate human potential.

Just the thought of that inspires me. Just the thought of the undreamed…stirs up and engages my emotions. Emotions are the perfect catalyst. Emotions are the most raw, organic manifestation tools humanity posseses.

By the end of the day today I will have a list of new, fresh dreams I’ve not thought of yet. By the end of the day I will have expanded my vision. By the end of this day I will be gravitating toward “a new newness.” I will be moving into a more exotic, happier experience.

What about you? Of course you know what your predictable future is. Of course you know overall what you hope for your life.

But, tell me…what have you NOT dreamed of yet?

I really want to know.

Yours in the dreamscape,
Cozett Dunn

#cozettcontemplates #whatdreamsmaycome #dream #dreamitintoexistence #quantumfield #humanpotential #dreambigger #explore #travel #love

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In The Silence

In the quietness of the dark

In the quietness of my room

In the quiet of my pain

I transmute my tragedies

Would that God would build me an ark

Would to God I was back in the womb

God, would you please release this cosmic brain

And I will transmute my tragedies from there

Oh, shining light who knows no chasm

My feeble legs are given to spasm

I kick and I roll and cannot sleep

Head throbbing, bladder thumping, I rise twice an hour

Wrapped in a weighted heating pad and hanging on to hope

This is me writing trying to cope

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Rain Falling Forward

Times of refreshing rain falling on me falling forward

I turned to my inner sea and collapsed shoreward

Rising from the black sand beach of my subconscious

Walls closing in around me I must become dauntless

My time here has come to end. My time here is about to fall backward

May it collapse into the unconscious sea for it never was truly me

I learned something the other day while I was reading, “Flowers On The Path.” And that is the karma of living unaligned invites wrath.

I read this book by Sadhguru, my Indian mystic, the one I aspire to emulate.

It was the rain falling forward that knocked me from this path of wrath

It was the rain falling forward that was my footpath

Solar plexus has become my lexis

I’ve learned to trust my gut

My pivotal nexus gives assurance so I strut

From one country to the next all around the globe

In the soil of every country I become their microbe

Giving life to the foundation of all we are and need

My happiness demands I elude the greed

Hermetic aesthetic

My soul won’t fit in a corporate hole

Capitalism is apathetic

Because it deems the hermit pathetic

So narrow. Only preying it knows

But, I plan to take it down with the gift of my prose

The great whore who preys upon the people

The great whore who has made it’s home under the steeple

I will write until my writing becomes a freedom song

Liberating the inhabitants of the earth and making them strong

A mother to the nations I’m calling first the east, then the north

Before I venture to the south and call them all forth

I give up entirely on the west. It is from where I came

It’s way of life nearly made me lame. I will leave it to another creature

Or perhaps to the lukewarm church and its favorite hateful preacher

Were it not for the falling forward rain

My life would still be subject to drain

But, I am moving forward now in this beautiful falling forward rain

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