Spirituality with Poetic Assistance

One year ago, if someone had asked me how I felt about poetry, I would have responded in some negative way. Unquestionably, I love images created with words. But my relationship with poetry was torpedoed by a careless teacher and by my own burgeoning self-esteem issues before it had a chance to begin. The poetic image was a snake, which everyone else in my class seemed to see. My mind saw something different, and the accompanying discomfort made me unable to correctly interpret or enjoy poetry for 23 years. The discussion that follows addresses, through my own experiences, the enormous potential that exists in the use of poetry in adult education, including its spiritual possibilities. Culture's Importance If finding spirituality involves "spiraling back" (Tisdell, 2003, p. 104) to the culture or background from which we developed in order to move forward in our spiritual and personal development, my reintroduction to poetry is a perfect example. While working with an adult educator and women prisoners, the women read a poem about a strong, powerful woman and discussed how it made them feel. Then they wrote a poem about themselves using a similar paradigm. I was also asked to participate, and inside, I was thinking sourly, "Well, if I have to..." However, the women from different educational and income levels, races, crimes, lengths of incarceration, family histories, for example, made not a sound--no groans, no complaints, and no questions about their ability to write a poem. They were actually eager to share their work with the group. Surprisingly, I also wanted to read my poem to these women whose culture seemed so different from my own. In fact, I felt myself spiraling back to my own culture. My parents, both from poor families with little education, provided a safe place to grow, but we were always close to the edge of a more undesirable life. Several of my relatives, including two in my immediate family members, have spent time in jail. It seems important to note that a jail is for short terms of incarceration and is distinct from prison, which is for offenders sentenced to one year or more, a fact which I learned from my ex-husband who puts the criminals in jail and prison (another interesting twist in this spiraling life). In addition, as a child, I remember picnicking with other families at a fun place, filled with sun, palm trees, and lots of grey and tan, not atypical for southern California. As an adult, I realize that we were visiting my uncle in prison, who had been convicted as an accessory to murder. The family story is that he was the driver of the getaway car for an armed robbery of a liquor store that went bad. Incidentally, this uncle has been apparently crime-free for decades since his release, unless one considers the fact that he works as a manager for Walmart. In hindsight, I now realize why I have always felt some connection to, and fascination for prisons and their prisoners. After pondering this idea of spiraling back, I discover that instead of my normal embarrassment at being related to these criminals, I find pride in being a member of this crazy family that has managed to make horrible mistakes, and still find their way back through the mess anyway. They are a part of me and a part of the place from where I came, and I wonder what rebellious streak, what pushing of boundaries has manifested itself in me, for it is assuredly a part of who I am. "When a dog is injured, the pain is not limited to the cells that are injured, but the dog itself--the dog's psyche--feels the pain of the cells" (Ford, 2003, p. 81). With this information, the poetry writing at the local county prison takes on new significance. We created a community of creativity despite our seemingly diverse cultures. As the women shared what was likely the only creative piece of their dreary, khaki-colored day, there was something in each poem that we could all relate to or maybe had even mentioned in our own poems. …