Friday, December 21, 2012


Drowned in a moonlit canvas,
Our shadows played upon the water.
A reflection,
Of what I've now become.

We held hands with paper dolls and toys soldiers.
Dressed our youth with balloons-
Party hats.

Living just beyond innocence
Reaching for Godliness.

I blink.
Are you there?

Your mouth holds my conviction,
But your venom draws me deeper.

Please touch me into feeling something.

Found this in a journal I had written from college circa 1996 and decided to add:
Written by Tracy Medberry Copyright 2012

Friday, December 7, 2012


Wrapped in sheets threaded with a strange loneliness,
I realize I cannot give anymore.
No more hide and seek. 
I no longer know the rules in this rabbit hole-
A place where I’m always “It”.
I crawl, face to the ground, to find you, but you are nowhere.
In the looking glass, I see a worn and stale reflection.
It shatters into several pieces against the final blow of guilt,
I make it suffer.
In games past, you've shielded yourself against my honesty
And strike a jab when I’m not looking.
Instead of chasing you into emptiness,
I gather the sharp pieces which would once protect me and walk into undiscovered territory,
Unaware of what I'm in search of.
I find a man dressed in robes of white who has turned to stone.
Who is he? Where did he go?
I shed a tear for his loss and mine.
I’m forced to grieve now, no longer able to numb my pain
Beneath shards of glass and dark secrets.
I stand at this altar and lay them at His feet,
Hoping this cold statue will reemerge a man in flesh,
Able to exchange my weapons for a piece of bread.
Perhaps if I sleep here all night, a miracle will come by morning.

Monday, November 26, 2012

The Run

My feet hit the gravel filled pavement, kicking small pebbles up behind me. The thought of a stone- filled truck driving on the freeway comes to mind, the ones that are uncovered slinging debris at your windshield as you try hopelessly to dodge the next oncoming crack. I quickly glance over my shoulder hoping no one is behind me, especially someone wearing glasses. My legs are swift and strong, and I run for miles without stopping to catch my breath. And then it comes over me...what I've been waiting for - the sensation of pure ecstasy. I'm not sure if everyone who runs avidly gets that rush once they reach a certain distance. But for me, it is like a bolus of some opiod they might use in a hospital ER. It had reached it's pique in my system, and my anger, frustration, and worries melted away like an inexpensive wax votive. I feel a smile creep over my face as the surge of a second wind infuses me. My body was made for this. In some moments, in my more graceful hours while gliding across smoother terrain, I would sometimes catch a rush of wind that left me with the sensation that I was flying. Those small moments were ones of perfection. The next moment was not one of those. I saw it coming ahead, but not quickly enough to change my course - a pothole about two feet in diameter (if you could call it that, looking at its amorphous shape). I quickly veered to the left, but my right foot lagged behind, catching its sharp corner, leaving me defenseless.  My brain slowed, as if retaining each millisecond of the next few moments the path this pothole had predetermined for me.

It was then I realized I was falling.

And with a mighty thunk, my body hit the ground. I took a moment to catch my breath. My sheets managed to catch the brunt of the force, though they twisted in a way that awkwardly fused my thigh to my abdomen.

Another dream, I swallowed hard to catch my breath, as if I actually had been running. I lay there a few moments wanting nothing more than to escape back to that place of ecstasy. I held hard to the feeling of my feet hitting the pavement, the way the cool wind swept across my plum face, the feeling of freedom and absolute surrender.

My eyes were burning now, tears flowing, the realization stinging me; I would never return to that place. I was in a different place of surrender, now. I traced the knotted sheets down my thigh, and clenched my jaw when my fingers ended their journey, right above where my knee once lay. No matter how many times I traced and retraced, no matter how many dreams, my leg was never coming back. I had to surrender to that fact.

AHH! the agony was like a blade ripping through my skin. I grabbed at my right leg, for the pain to stop, only to discover . . . air.

There is an irony in the phrase phantom pain. I honestly never gave two thoughts about my legs before the accident, self-righteously assuming they would always be there -- until one wasn't . After that, the phantom was a daily reminder of what I now couldn't do so easily, what I had once taken for granted, and what I would give for a sense of normalcy.

I paused a moment, before untangling the sheets that connected me to that other world. Before, calling my mother for help back into my bed. Before I had to succumb to a long arduous morning routine, that had replaced the eager simplicity of jumping out of bed, I wanted to remember the simplicity of running.  

I held onto that sheet like a lifeline for what seemed like hours. I replayed every little league game, every school dance -- roller skating, jumping on trampolines, swimming at the local pool . . . guys looking at me like I was an object of affection and beauty. . . not someone who needed pitying. I went through every memory, every stupid stunt that could have gotten me killed . . . my accident.

I don't remember much about that night:

I was about six weeks in to my freshman year of a Division III school on a merit scholarship for track and field. I was the first leg runner (I realize the irony, now) in the 4x400. We placed first that night, and decided to have a bit of a rager. It was my first college party, so, believe me, I took full advantage of the opportunity.
Then things started getting a bit fuzzy. The cops got called, and everyone started scattering like cockroaches in the light. Me and another guy escaped to the roof. I remember a cop's voice, thundering  inside the bedroom. The only way out was down. So, we both agreed to jump on three. I can still hear his voice inside my head.
One! I looked over the edge. Two! "Here, I'll hold your hand!" Three! . . .
They kept repeating how lucky I was to be alive.
I kept asking about the other guy, but nobody ever answered . . .
I had conveniently forgotten about him.
It's funny how people choose to remember the past and how that, in turn, effects their view of the present.

At that moment, I took my 4 pound, 400 thread count umbilical chord, and let go. I untwisted the knots that gagged my body, and gawkily forced all my weight up onto my left leg. Then, I fumbled through the darkness, feeling thankful for once when my hands reached the right leg's cold, hard replacement.
I then propped myself back onto my bed, ineptly preparing my right leg for the first time I would handle this morning's routine.
My mother popped her head in and turned on the light, shocked at what she saw.
I'll do that. she interrupted.
I've got it! I recanted, pushing her away.
That's my job. What are you doing? Her eyes and mouth contorted.
I stopped for a moment, and looked her square in the eyes.
I'm going for a run. 


Flashbacks haunted
Memory daunted
The iron lung won't let me move.
Pressure's falling
Lungs in need of outside rescue
Air flows
An artificial breath inflates me.
Short lived
Breath expelled
In need of another quick jolt
Allowing the process to continue
Knowing I can breathe . . .
On my own
If only I make the choice
To open the chamber.

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Morning Dance

It's time for our secret early hour ritual
Donned in bathrobes and the scent of fabric softener
I hear the stiff crinkle of the pages of our worn book
As I worm my way into your lap.
Your circus-like juggling act of coffee, books, and cigarettes
Always eluded tiny hands dropping objects to large to fit their grasp.
But your hand manages to make its way to mine.
Mine... half its size, is enveloped by your glove.
I find it odd how much security and comfort can be found
In the way your hand wraps around mine.

I inhale the bitter but fresh aroma wafting from the coffee mug in your left hand
As your right hand softly dances to find the dog eared page
So customary to our morning retreat

You take a sip of coffee and exhale
My head nestles into your chest  and I can hear your heartbeat
I take a moment to relish the aroma of mountain and pine, sighing from your skin,
Urging me to nuzzle closer.

Zara the Bather, you announce in a tone that would make Hugo proud.
As you begin my ear searches for that perfect spot
Filled with rich baritone vibrato and the steady drumbeat of your voice.
Once found, I melt into you and let the rhythm, the musicality, our composition overtake me.

And I discover,  I am home.

Monday, August 27, 2012

The Mariner

To dive beneath your skin
Where the scent of sunrays and mountain peaks beckon me.
Oh sirens!
Your melody, so sweet
Hangs like a vice around my heart.
I’ve become accustomed to the ache.
In moments it loosens,
And I am aware of its yield
Stay! I beg for more of the rhythmic pounding that follows its cadence.
It pulls me to the undertow
Where air evades me-
Far beneath the waves that have cracked the shallow surface.
I find myself crashing to the ocean floor, my brain dizzied by orchestration.
In moments of clarity there is solace in this place of vulnerability.
The vastness of warmth, here, in this space only we two, share.
Caught off guard by a gaze inviting me closer into the depth of you,
I'm leery of timeless tales, of the melodies relayed by those on shore
Those with deep furrows in faces scoured clean and fragile by years of salt water embedded in their skin.
You wrap your strong arms around me, inviting me further...inviting release.
Breathless, I succumb. I have nothing left to offer.
Nothing to give. My body grows limp.
Like a miracle, you grab my face and place your lips to mine. Life pours into me.
An aria. Music I've have never encountered floods my ears. Sharp. Crisp. Bellowing. Pure. It's almost too much to contain, and I break away for a moment of respite.
But, I quickly realize it is something my soul is in need of in this vast unknown territory.
In the darkness, I am guided toward the familiar tune.
Until our lips meet again.
I have but one request. 
If I drown entangled in this one breath between us…
Please, heavenly creature…
Sing me home

Poem by Tracy Medberry 2012; Video: Never Let Me Go by Florence and the Machine, Universal Island Records 2012

Thursday, July 5, 2012

Is Your Idea Worth a Million Dollars? Try Patent or Not!

Have you seen Shark Tank? Think you may have that million dollar idea that will take the world by storm?

I know I'm always coming up with these ideas and wondering if a. someone else has already "stolen my idea" or b. if what I think may be a ground breaking idea would actually be marketable.

Well, I found a really cool looking and reputable web-based service for vetting ideas to find out if my own ideas are worth moving forward to get a patent or if once again, someone else has already snatched up something I thought of.

The Best Part...

They have super affordable packages! And they, unlike this somewhat goofy post, come across as a straight forward and honest site that is gimmick free. The site has a very professional appearance that takes itself seriously. It doesn't seem to be one of those places that will take your money and run, but simply will tell you if your own creative "baby" is patentable or if it's not patentable, allowing you to move on to your next big idea.

So, join me in a creative revolution, and together we'll see if we may have what it takes to be one of the world's next Steve Jobs... or at least the founder of the pet rock...whoever that person was.

Who knows, our ideas might be turn out to be better than a Snuggie wrapped in Jeggings.

Find out more at:

Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Fix Me

My rant of the day is around this song called Fix You, by Coldplay.
I have a love-hate relationship with this song, albeit not as bad as Electric Feel by MGMT, which just completely torqued me off after I had a good listen to the lyrics - I mean come on, shock me like an electric eel. Not to mention the music video has the feel of a creepy, egregious, knock off done by a member of the Peter Jackson Restraining Order Club.

But don’t let me get my undies in a wad over this. Because sadly, I still find myself swaying to this song, electric eel and all, when it finds its way to my radio dial.
But, I get this is just some cheesy pop song, meant for people to dance to at the clubs. It’s catchy. Nothing more, nothing less.

It doesn’t toy with your emotions, leaving you having deep philosophical conversations with yourself late into the night.

Here is where Fix You, by Coldplay comes in. It is a gorgeous song. It’s a song many have embraced for advertisements, for choreography, or for just when in need of an inspirational moment. It’s a song with which my soul connects. It hits me at the gut level every time I hear it, especially as the song builds to its climax with the a simple quickening of an electric guitar melody, followed by the layering of drums, burning their pattern into my ears and my heart. And then comes the final layer. The lyrics:
Tears stream down your face, when you lose something you cannot replace. Tears stream down your face, and I. Tears stream down your face. I promise you, I will learn from my mistakes. Lights will guide you home and ignite your bones, and I will try to fix you.

So, even if you are the Grench, your heart is most likely swelling by this point. What adds to the agony, is that it was supposedly written by Chris Martin for his wife Gwenyth Paltrow, after her father died. She comes home drenched in tears. Her husband asks what he can do for her. And she replies something to the affect of “Just hold me, because you’re the only thing that can fix me right now.” The single thought of this, is incredibly romantic.

But what if you have someone in your life, who believes this to be true to their core? What if it’s not a one time tragic event? What if it’s years upon years of tears and pain and grief? What if the person’s hands are bloody and their soul is tired from trying to fix you?

When does it become one’s responsibility to take a step of faith to change negative patterns and take steps to fix oneself? To possibly take some insight from The Serenity Prayer:

God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference

I’m not saying we don’t need a safe place to fall from time to time. I’m not saying change can’t be elicited from the inspiring words of a loved one. I’m not saying I don’t love this song. I do believe, everyone needs encouragement, hugs, intimacy, inspiration, LOVE. People need other people who will spur the on when times get rough.

But when does this encouragement become enabling? When does it teach the other that she cannot do for herself - that she needs another to be whole or fixed? What happens when she begins to believe she holds no value apart from another human- The person who’s been trying for so long to bear the responsibility of fixing her?

What if, instead, she, like Dorothy, in The Wizard of Oz, finally realizes those walking beside her on her path to find home, had no special powers to fix her? They were incredible, reliable, loyal, and inspiring companions. They were valued friends to share in a journey, help keep one another from danger, care for one another. But those companions could never guide her home. Fortunately she discovers in the end, she has had in her possession the whole time, the thing she most needed at the core of her being: the ruby-red slippers. The one thing that would guide her home. That would fix her.

Thursday, March 1, 2012

Ten Angels

Ten angels wildly dance on the head of your pen,
They peer on with anticipation as new melodies,
Crafted with your ink, take their first breath.
I see them. Clothed in brilliance, but like children on Christmas morning
Excitedly drawing closer to each syllable until it is finally time to unwrap your next “ahaha!”.

Ten angels sitting on your shoulder, tonight as you sleep,
Eagerly awaiting the moment when the dawn kisses your lips
And the sun bursts forth from your mouth singing praises to your Creator.

Ten groggy-eyed angels,
Lying on the edge of your morning cup of joe
Inhaling just enough caffeinated fumes
To make up for last night’s deficit.

Ten slightly buzzed angels
Doing deep stretches on your writing tablet
Before they take their rightful place atop your pen.
Knowing today’s performance is just about to begin.

And then...


Thursday, February 16, 2012


It hurts to breathe
The viper’s pit has returned
And I feel the venom slowly release through my veins.
I’m tired of the pity parties, the self doubt, the self incrimination...
The pain.
Yet, there they sit, like fodder off which the wild beast living inside me feeds.
Or a child’s favorite toy, which my brain latches onto and won’t release.
To melt inside your warmth...
To truly know your warmth, for that matter
Is a place of longing where my aching heart resides.
This emptiness, slowly sucking the marrow from my bones.
Too weak to walk among the broken shells of our honesty;
Honesty - ripping the life out of me.

Monday, February 13, 2012


How do we put out a house we’ve set on fire,
When we’re standing in the middle of the flames?
Sometimes guilty of holding the propellant?
Many would say the rational would flee to safety, never looking back...
But here we lie, intoxicated by the fumes, going into depth about the horror we see around us.
How do you feel about that shade of violet?
I think I saw it in a Bunsen burner, during my childhood.
Is the heat beginning to burn your skin?
It feels like the sunburn I got when I was 10. I cried then.
The smoke is beginning to fill my lungs.
You should have stayed lower to the ground, like me.

Observation, Contemplation, Deliberation, Theorization, and finally...
What color should we paint the living room next?
The flames are encompassing us.
The weight of the house is falling around us, turning to ash.
It’s funny. Never once did we think to reach for a pail of water.

Tuesday, January 24, 2012


Skin on skin
Breath on skin
Your words like porcelain,
Instantly creating a chasm.
Slow motion
I saw you fumble to catch your last syllable
But it was too late.
They hit my ears like a tidal wave
burning, careening
Until they found their rightful place
In the middle of my chest.
I pushed each ah, ee, and ew
Deeper and deeper inside until I could no longer feel the pain
And my breath returned to me.
Time after time, again and again
Simple words.
Nothing more, nothing less,
Began to clog my insides.
Your voice - once my sanctuary
Now ran like shards of glass down a blackboard.
In guilt and love, you came to me.
And I grasped each affirmation, a tiny stent, to replace the damage
Hoping blood might flow and my heart might beat again.
I looked to you, oh my surgeon, for bandaid-sized repair.
When, perhaps what I needed, was transplantation.

Friday, January 13, 2012

Finding My Destiny and the Stone

So, I attended Destiny Project, a Christian retreat for women a couple of years ago, where most of us there were trying to figure out why on Earth we were on this planet, and what are destinies were to be. I was sure God was going to talk with me about my journey as a creative artist in the world. A bit of naive narcissism crept in as I thought about moving from theatre arts and entering a full time career in film.

Toward the beginning of the first night we were all given a gift bag with a stone with a single word etched in it to help in this weekend-on this journey toward self discovery. We were told that the bags had been prayed over and they felt that the bag and stone we received was meant exactly for us. No pressure there : / It seemed like most of the ladies were excited about the stone they received, believing it was meant for them. Quite honestly it was as if some of these women were having major epiphanies in the moment over a simple word inscribed on their rock. I looked down at my stone and saw the word "Welcome". "Welcome"? What the heck was that supposed to mean? I could find that word on my door mat in front of my house. Seriously?! I looked over to my friend's stone, who had the word "Creative" etched into it, and had a short, indignant thought of striking the "Creative" stone that was so rightfully mine out of her hand with my "Welcome" stone. That would set God straight. "Creative"! That's the stone I should have gotten. It suited me. Not that my friend wasn't creative, but God and I had talked about this. It was why I was here, right? To find my purpose in the field of creative arts! I was pretty sure I got the wrong stone.

So, when we went around in a circle, describing what epiphany our stone had given us, I dug deep and came up with some plausible answer about fearing what other women in the group might think of me, and that maybe God was telling me I was welcome here. Meanwhile, I must admit, I had thoughts of sneaking into my friend's gift bag, late at night and stealing the "Creative" stone, but quickly realized, she was one of the one's who had a joyous epiphany over that word, and I could never steal that smile from her face. And besides, if I really wanted to, I'm sure I could have found out where they bought the darn things, and go purchase my own "Creative" rock if I wanted. Ok, so maybe this wasn't the healthiest way to start out a women's retreat. It's not that I didn't try to glean philosophical meaning from this 2" paper weight that I could easily skim across the water. But, everything that crossed my mind, didn't seem to quite make sense.

The weekend was amazing, and God did talk to me about my purpose in the creative art's field - that I was to help create stories that impacted the world in a positive light and connect people to the love of God. But what about this pesky rock? What about the unanswered question - why did this thing land in my hands? And why couldn't I just let it go?

Fast forward a couple of years, to today, where I'm in probably in one of the most broken places of my life. A place where the marriage, the things, and the patterns that I held so dear for the past 11 years were crumbling and slipping through my hands, and I didn't know how to fix any of it. I simply knew that I didn't want to live this way anymore. I wanted to become this new creation, so often mentioned throughout the Bible. I was exhausted with the way we had been living and the old patterns of avoidance we created to help numb the pain, but also kept us hidden from life. So, I set out on this adventure to find the phoenix hiding in my soul, hoping my husband would, at some point, join me in the fight for our marriage (which he since, has).

The first step in my journey was to create safe boundaries for myself and provide space for healing.

I had always prided myself on having a "healthy" marriage and didn't want anyone close to me or in my community to know it was an area in which I was now failing, for fear of judgment.

I cried out to God and He showed up in so many ways. First with a mutual friend - a place where I felt safe to air my current problems and ask for help. I felt completely welcome, without judgment or reservation. She asked if I was willing to reach out for help from people I knew at that time, and my pride got in the way, initially shooting down the idea. But God was gentle, and He blessed me with a couple, who I knew a little better than the mutual friend, but still felt distant enough to let them in; and, they walked beside me, welcoming me.

Then, I felt safe enough to share this area of my life with someone from Destiny Project who I trusted deeply and with whom I had shared very personal things in the past. In all honesty, she helped get me to this place of wanting more for my life and helped me to understand the role of boundaries in relationships. I was welcome there.

And then one morning, I heard God telling me I needed to share this with someone who was a little closer to home, someone who ran in the same circles, someone with whom I attended Destiny Project. I cried as the fear of rejection spilled from my veins. In this release, there was so much freedom - as I knew God was the only person I could hold onto now, and He would never reject me. When, I finally spoke with her about my current circumstance, she did nothing but welcome me with open arms.

And now, I'm sharing this with you - my Destiny Project sisters. Because relationships aren't easy, and marriage isn't easy. But we serve a God of new creations, of new covenants. A God we can look to for our value, instead of finding it in our partner, our friends, our work, or the rest of the world. A God who is willing to take us and love us right where we are at. A God who welcomes and deals remarkably with imperfections.

So, I'm still not perfect. My marriage is not perfect, though I can feel God's handprint in it, working and moving-healing the past and creating a future for us. It's painful to let the familiarity of the past go, even though it may not have served us in any way or been a part of the blessing God wanted to bestow on us.

I was listening to a Mumford and Sons song the other night, after the thought occurred to me that as hard as I had been trying to "fix" our marriage, I had no power to fix anything or any other person. Trying just left me resentful and exhausted. New creation could occur, but only if I surrendered myself and this marriage to God.

The song is entitled "Roll Away Your Stone". The whole songs speaks heavily to my heart right now. But the most poignant lyrics for me are:

"It seems that all my bridges have been burned,
But, you say that's exactly how this grace thing works
It’s not the long walk home
that will change this heart,
But the welcome I receive with the restart."

There it epiphany, two years later. The stone was now screaming at me -- WELCOME! And my mind shot instantly back to Destiny Project. Set in a song called Roll Away Your Stone, were lyrics that welcomed me to an experience with the God of Grace, and beckoned me to an opportunity to start again.

This time with Him in the driver's seat.

Perhaps God didn't give me the stone I wanted, but the stone I needed. I knew God designed me to be creative. I didn't need some affirmation on a rock to prove this. I did however, need the word "welcome", planted in my heart at the precise moment, sitting there, germinating until the one day when God would decide to use it at a turning point in my life.

Through a simple word, he humbly reminded me that there is an amazing group of women who have been a part of this experience who will lovingly step up and welcome those in need. I don't need to fear condemnation. And if I do happen to come across that, I pray that God will use it as a tool to allow me to find my value in Him.

In this new journey God has welcomed me to rise out of the ashes of a self destructive past, into the light of brilliant future. Out of the ashes of a stale and sometimes destructive marriage, and into what I pray, will be a new covenant.

Both my husband and I have a long way to go toward healing, but here's to another step in letting people in, and letting the fear of what others may think, go.

Tuesday, January 10, 2012


God. . .
Give me wings to fly to the sun
Without incineration.
Incineration got me to this place
So entangled in you
I was no longer myself
Only fragments remained.
Now I'm busy picking up pieces
Of brittle bones and loose skin.
Your healing breath - once a salve to my imperfections
Holds a bitter odor, today.
And I can't help but to want more than broken-
Being loved because I was broken.
There is so much more here than your fragile thing
With arms tightly woven into every affirmation or condemnation
You lavished on me.
I am no longer that woman.
My shoulders start to ache, an unfamiliar searing
A new anticipation sets in and I instinctively keep your tired arms at a distance
Where they cannot save me.
Knowing this is my journey.
Muscles and tendons stretch and flesh begins to rip.
A gift emerges through these two quickly healing lacerations.
I feel their span, as they beat rhythmically in new found strength and freedom.
Perhaps God has been listening all along.