Self Discovery, self awareness

Trauma to Triumph-
Facing Demons
Sacred Quest
Self Discovery
Greatest Gift to Yourself...."Getting Real"

Art & Poetry for Self Discovery
Whether you know what is inside you clamoring to be expressed, or you don't have a clue, media such as pen and paper, clay or wood, paint, pencil or collage can help you be more fully yourself in a world where everything often seems to lead us away from who we really are inside.
If you are one of many who find your inner feelings and experience to be strange and bewildering territory, creativity can be both a language and a compass to understand the seemingly foreign paths you travel.  With practice, this can gradually become your  terrain, where you know you can truly be yourself, where you know you truly belong.  



To recapture something

Never had

Long for what was

Never felt

Yearn for things ’were

Never done

Wish for freedom

Never known

Hope for a future that will

Never be

Mourn for the person who

Might have been me.



What Am I?

I am the appointed one,

chosen tacitly by mutual unconscious agreement-

to feel what others dare not feel, because it frightens them, 

to face what others run from... because they can,

to hear what others tune out, because they don't know what to do,

to carry a treasure that clamors to be shared,

but few want to hear or know,

except of course in their hearts... '08



Mine Field

Loving other human beings deeply, (as i do)

is fraught with great risk and fear,

filled with potential terrors

that shake me to the core.

I may be steely strong,

but tap me in the right spot

and i will break into a million pieces...

Loving human beings so openly and deeply

(as I am wont to do)

is like dancing in a minefield.


I will repair and mend,
make the broken whole,
transform ugliness to beauty,
raise the dead to restored life!
This is the substance of my existence.
I am the primordial self, scavenging
for leaves and berries,
rooting through the earth for a treasure or a tool.
I am the infant me, lost in "no Self", "no Other"
falling through endless black voids
clutching, grasping, for some familiar thing to hold,
calling in infant cries for security never known.
I am the shattered self, the broken heart,
the unacceptable outcast,
seeking a place to fit,
a place to belong...
searching for the meaning of "home".
Dauntingly I piece Humpty Dumpty together
from all the small fragments I find
parts of me lost so long ago.
How will I know them,
like twins seperated at birth?
Might there be a time that finds me
when I have recovered those fragments-
and resurrected the self that never was allowed to be? 



It’s so easy to lose touch

with what is deep within;

So easy to lose touch with

the essence of our humanity.

Our masks become more firmly planted

with each passing year,

Back when we didn’t know

who we were, we were closer

to the truth.



That fabric which entices me
with its sinister embrace
i shall spin and weave anew, and artfully reface...
transform into a majestic tapestry,
a garment of subtley eloquent grace!
My fingers tremble with such urgency,
honoring every thread and hue.
Listen, even the smallest fiber
is crying out for what is true!
I intend these once darkly woven threads
to express a living light instead...
With intuition my only guide,
by braile these shapes a path provide.
For I am a blind weaver,
sensing without seeing,
and these are the very threads of my being.

Great burdens of sorrow and pain
demand searching for wholeness,
for the sacred unnamed.
As I search for meaning, for buried treasure within
I find more questions about that which has been...
In order to be set completely free, 
the past is oddly still yet to be.
But transfigured I am by the weavers hand,
lifelong mending now the ultimate plan.
This intensely complex tapestry,
is creating my self as art, an emerging "me".
threads once lifeless and fragile few
are now ten thousand of brilliant hues.
An impassioned whisper with my breast
says "This IS the quintessential quest!".
As I pursue  a clarion way of being,
forgotten truths and illumined seeing.
Salvaged remnants of what is yet unnamed,
amidst tattered memories, shadows and shame.
Will anyone ever please be able to see
the pain, beauty and triumph that is becoming Me? 

Inner Vision Art  by Susan Kennedy Stafford
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