Below conscious awareness, there lurks a mighty force.
Primordial by nature and considered as the source.
Of the clock that keeps you ticking, cycling heart and lungs and blood.
Working even while you're sleeping, never fully understood.
But beyond the purely physical responsibilities,
This self-preserving wonder has more functionality.
The emotional identity of a person is quite central.
In life, do I participate, or am I antisocial.
We all start life the same way, thrust out, exposed at first.
A clean slate in our innocence, our first trauma, is birth.
We didn't pick our parents, sisters, brothers, class or clan.
They took us to a house, a home, sometimes without a plan,
For how to be responsible, how to provide a place,
Of safety and security, a validation space.
Instead they often subject those, entrusted to their care,
To tragedies and trials, insecurities, despair.
Without a prior history, or past experience,
We've no hope of surviving in, a world that makes no sense.
Without our constant ally, protecting us from pain,
Self doubt, humiliation, things we can't explain,
Living just below the conscious levels, of our active mind,
Fine-tuning how we view the world, which armor to apply.
Adapting our emotional and intellectual states,
Giving us a slim chance of, surviving teenage angst.
But if we let this armor, control our whole existence,
In time the thickening walls become, a prison for our conscious.
We learn to ignore others pain, obsessing with our own,
Afraid of revelation, concerned it might be shown,
That beyond expressions placed with care: the banners we've invented,
A timid inner child cringes, scared and isolated.
Our only hope of breaking free, from life's subconscious grip,
Are times of mortal anguish, near death experience.
An opportunity to view, life from a different angle,
To shed the hardened layers that, lately've begun to strangle.
But in that fleeting moment, when healing could be had,
Instead of breaking down the walls,
We add to them instead…