joanswhatilearnedonedayinhell.blogspot.com

What I Learned One Day in Hell

What I Learned One Day in Hell. Sunday, May 6, 2007. I learned that hell is not just in the mind. But in the body, that suffering permeates. All life on earth and time itself is thin as air. And makes no promises, while death is everywhere. And easy. I saw myself a sagging empty bag. Unable to cry or write or speak, vomiting foul fluids,. Pissing my pants, writhing in nausea. Nor was I. Who I thought I was: mother, artist, jew, yogini. I was. None of these things, just that empty bag. I am a good person!

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What I Learned One Day in Hell | joanswhatilearnedonedayinhell.blogspot.com Reviews

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What I Learned One Day in Hell. Sunday, May 6, 2007. I learned that hell is not just in the mind. But in the body, that suffering permeates. All life on earth and time itself is thin as air. And makes no promises, while death is everywhere. And easy. I saw myself a sagging empty bag. Unable to cry or write or speak, vomiting foul fluids,. Pissing my pants, writhing in nausea. Nor was I. Who I thought I was: mother, artist, jew, yogini. I was. None of these things, just that empty bag. I am a good person!

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1 by joan dobbie

2 i am loved

3 learning

4 learn more

5 shrieked

6 i learned

7 i am strong

8 love

9 mocked the demons

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What I Learned One Day in Hell | joanswhatilearnedonedayinhell.blogspot.com Reviews

https://joanswhatilearnedonedayinhell.blogspot.com

What I Learned One Day in Hell. Sunday, May 6, 2007. I learned that hell is not just in the mind. But in the body, that suffering permeates. All life on earth and time itself is thin as air. And makes no promises, while death is everywhere. And easy. I saw myself a sagging empty bag. Unable to cry or write or speak, vomiting foul fluids,. Pissing my pants, writhing in nausea. Nor was I. Who I thought I was: mother, artist, jew, yogini. I was. None of these things, just that empty bag. I am a good person!

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joanswhatilearnedonedayinhell.blogspot.com

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What I Learned One Day in Hell: by Joan Dobbie

http://www.joanswhatilearnedonedayinhell.blogspot.com/2007/05/by-joan-dobbie.html

What I Learned One Day in Hell. Sunday, May 6, 2007. I learned that hell is not just in the mind. But in the body, that suffering permeates. All life on earth and time itself is thin as air. And makes no promises, while death is everywhere. And easy. I saw myself a sagging empty bag. Unable to cry or write or speak, vomiting foul fluids,. Pissing my pants, writhing in nausea. Nor was I. Who I thought I was: mother, artist, jew, yogini. I was. None of these things, just that empty bag. I am a good person!

2

What I Learned One Day in Hell: May 2007

http://www.joanswhatilearnedonedayinhell.blogspot.com/2007_05_01_archive.html

What I Learned One Day in Hell. Sunday, May 6, 2007. I learned that hell is not just in the mind. But in the body, that suffering permeates. All life on earth and time itself is thin as air. And makes no promises, while death is everywhere. And easy. I saw myself a sagging empty bag. Unable to cry or write or speak, vomiting foul fluids,. Pissing my pants, writhing in nausea. Nor was I. Who I thought I was: mother, artist, jew, yogini. I was. None of these things, just that empty bag. I am a good person!

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joansyoureyesblueasgodsheaven.blogspot.com

Your Eyes Blue As God's Heaven: April 2007

http://joansyoureyesblueasgodsheaven.blogspot.com/2007_04_01_archive.html

Your Eyes Blue As God's Heaven. Saturday, April 7, 2007. You are neither father. You have married both. You have sired my children. I hold you on my lap. Call you nephew/niece,. Nurse you at my breast. Your limp northern hair. Slips through my fingers. I love you, lose you. And long for you. And find you, but can never. Quite sew you into my life. On bright sunny days you smile. In the dark of my chest. Filling me with birdsong. But come night you turn hard. You are ransacking my house. I run from my bed.

joansterezinsonnet.blogspot.com

Terezin Sonnet: May 2007

http://joansterezinsonnet.blogspot.com/2007_05_01_archive.html

Monday, May 21, 2007. For my Niece, Gracie, whose telephone message from a Death Camp near Prague reached me in the throws of depression- on Mother’s Day, 2007.). A wind so dark it breaks up branches, shatters poles. Jew bodies burned- Jew spirits shake the trees-. Inside my head, the horror blows and blows. Those demons howling in your wind they’re me -. Born of the holocaust I swallow fear. Like food and suffer childhood without end. I choose a man as cold as wind is where. View my complete profile.

joansbrokenbaby.blogspot.com

The Broken Baby: May 2007

http://joansbrokenbaby.blogspot.com/2007_05_01_archive.html

Monday, May 7, 2007. Photo by jd 2005. I was going crazy. I didn’t mean. To do it, but. I threw my baby out the window. It was made of glass. Shattered on the walk. I jumped out after. I was. Made of glass, and yet. I did. Just barely. Survive. I broke my legs, my arms. My face. Was ripped off at the cheek. My heart. Was pierced and oozing. This happened only yesterday. Today I bleed and bleed. I come to you in agony of shame. To plead for thread and needle. Plaster, glue and surgical tools.

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joanswhatilearnedonedayinhell.blogspot.com

What I Learned One Day in Hell

What I Learned One Day in Hell. Sunday, May 6, 2007. I learned that hell is not just in the mind. But in the body, that suffering permeates. All life on earth and time itself is thin as air. And makes no promises, while death is everywhere. And easy. I saw myself a sagging empty bag. Unable to cry or write or speak, vomiting foul fluids,. Pissing my pants, writhing in nausea. Nor was I. Who I thought I was: mother, artist, jew, yogini. I was. None of these things, just that empty bag. I am a good person!

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Sunday, March 11, 2007. Is to be lost. What is not yet. I hope you'll wait for me. Jd Appx. 1995. Posted by Joan Dobbie @ 3:36 PM. View my complete profile. Poetry Immersion Classes with Joan Dobbie. Some Thoughts and How to on Poetry Writing. Live Each Day as If. Yoga Class, the Teacher Speaks. Love Song to a Dead Kitten. Your Eyes Blue As God's Heaven. I Am The Woman. Find my poems in: Looking For Home, Women Writing about Exile. Find my poem in: A Patchwork of Dreams.

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What Is Yoga?

Essay by Joan Dobbie. Essay by Joan Dobbie. BUT WHAT ABOUT SIVANANDA YOGA? ETC WHAT DO THOSE WORDS MEAN? Followers of the teacher, Iyengar, practice Iyengar yoga; followers of the teacher Desekachar, practice Desekachar yoga. And so forth. SO HOW CAN I CHOOSE? Posted by Joan Dobbie @ 10:17 PM. View my complete profile. Poem, Yoga Class the Teacher Speaks. University of Oregon Rate Your Professor. Essay, What is Yoga? Flier, Health Club Sun Salute. Article, How I Got My Mantra. River Road Parks and Rec.

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