#trauma release

Understanding How Stored Physical Tension Inhibits Trauma Release

(The Silent Screams of Fallen Friends)

By Bocephus Jackson, The Hemlock Bard, ©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

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“The darkest places in hell are reserved for those who maintain their neutrality in times of moral crisis.” — Dante Alighieri

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I. Engagement

With the force of an autumn storm,

Came a hymn sung with gritted teeth,

As a baptism within kerosene norms,

The bleed, the creed, the greed replete.

While entangled, I had no way to run,

Where the shadowed beast loomed,

Leaving me without my trusty gun,

I relied on my bayonet to entomb.

As war is a different kind of hell,

The silent screams of fallen friends,

Amid the gunfire and mortar shells,

God is collecting dog tags as Amens.

Heaven doesn’t offer peace treaties,

Where the battlefield claims the lost,

Televised evangelists make entreaties,

Because we all must tithe for the cross.

Staggering through a no-man 's-land, Dragging a broken crucifix as a rifle,

Comes a cruelly damning reprimand,

A trauma-induced reaffirming cycle.

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II. Casualties

We exist as the walking wounded,

In foxholes with a passive idolatry,

Where neurobiology has intruded,

Therefore, Isaiah has become an IED.

Within the crucibles of benighted grief,

Removing all the pew-bound doubters,

Hold fast because there will be relief,

God reloads his truth as a howitzer.

As scars are manifested authenticity,

Signifying a war-torn testament,

Through the hollow cries and bleeds,

As a grace payment for our investment.

Having hid our bloodstained coughs,

We will no longer take the shunning,

So release a battlecrying yawp,

As Grace shouts out, “INCOMING!”

Yes, cut supply lines are a setback,

As recovery timelines are questionable,

Sirens blare of an impending attack,

The graves will be the confessional.

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III. Treatment

“The dirt may drink our blood today,

But dogwoods shall sprout tomorrow,

With a rat-a-tat-tat rhythm spray,

As we bury in our bellies the sorrow.”

“Grieve! Grieve! For those now silent,

The struggle is with cultural conditions,

Disdain and pain in forced compliance,

For society God grants no redemption.”

Among the char lies no nothingness,

But lives entombed within our being,

As the wounds forge togetherness,

Because the journeys are worth seeing.

We are battle medics taking live fire,

While performative hope can’t heal,

Suturing wounds with barbed wire,

Where faith to us is fucking real!

So stab the shadow with smiting rage,

With weapons of radical acceptance,

It doesn't have to command the stage,

Upon the dawn comes the resistance.

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“He who has a why to live can bear almost any how.” — Viktor E. Frankl

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Author’s Reflection

“One cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well.” — Virginia Woolf

This one hits different with full intention. Every line serves a function: TV evangelist signifies false faith, paid-for faith, and untested faith. Then, Radical Acceptance serves as instruction on how to fight the war and recover from it, contradicts the theme of violence, and autocorrects a call to harm others or oneself.

Because of this, when faith, religion, and hope become active battlefield combatants, God (though challenged) is the stalwart battle buddy right in the thick of the fight, whether we realize it or not. Not past or future tense, but present. Distinction matters.

I genuinely hope that this helps. Please know that I am in the foxhole alongside you with some corny jokes and the scarred faith to match yours. Damn proud of you. As always, I thank you for your time and kind consideration. Back to work! You got this, especially when you don’t. Right then—

God has your Six…

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“We must learn to live together as brothers or perish together as fools.” — Martin Luther King Jr.

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(Are Sins Of Others A Damning Creed)

By Bocephus Jackson, The Hemlock Bard, ©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

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“Shame undergirds other affective states because of its relationship to being left.” — Curt Thompson

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“Do you need blood, because I bleed,

An urgency for agency to know truth,

Are the sins of others a damning creed,

Am I cursed as a house of ill repute?”

The house is marred, stud to rafter,

The violence and violation held within,

Yet a solemn lament to the Here After,

As the abuse that silences the Amens.

“I give and live, grieve, laugh, and love,

But it is nothing, and you are nothing,

As scars from an apathetic God above,

Yet I try to thrive in faith as I cling.”

“Shunned and denied amid the tears,

Trauma relived in drama left for dead,

The memories cement all the fears,

Look, there’s the back of your head.”

“The plaster is pockmarked with holes,

Windows sealed, a draft still seeps,

Through the door to my eternal soul,

And yet no visitors come for weeks.”

“The dust mites are its theophany,

Collecting yet rejecting the home,

As trust and love create discrepancy,

Shame extends within flesh and bone.”

“I do not need to reconcile the world,

Fate damned me before taking breath,

But for each of the lost children unfurl,

That an unadorned house isn’t death.”

“As you traverse the desire and dread,

That life offers in buckets, remember,

Those who show the back of their head

Wasn’t a sanctuary but vain splendor.”

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“Our generation will have to repent not only for the words and acts of the children of darkness, but also for the fears and apathy of the children of light.” — Martin Luther King Jr.

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Author’s Reflection

“And the opposite of life is not death, it’s indifference.” — Elie Wiesel

This one hurt, but it had to be done out of necessity. This is the authentic self — unvarnished, hole-ly walls, chipped paint, in echoing the scars and shame derived from childhood sexual and physical abuse. It extends from within the haunted chambers of a soul lost in the fight.

And yet, the person is still capable of wanting a life outside the isolation caused by trauma, and the theophanic evidence within the apathy of others. For years, there has been a sea of indifferent heads running for the door as distinct as a current, yet the same in the wakes of their destruction.

But we advance! Especially when we cannot swim. As we tread water, we learn how to drown — taking on the tidal waves, their cruelty and, at times, their compassion. There is a shore… for you, for me, for anyone and everyone needing a lifeline. We will find it…

Keep going. Keep living, laughing, and loving. That is how you repair the house and make it a home. Question: How great are fixer-uppers?! They have a history, but that history gives them character. Because of this, within each lies vast potential. Now get the spackle. I’ll order pizza.

Proud of you, more than you know…

Trent

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“Then the man said, ‘Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome.’” — Genesis 32:28

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An Existentially Eternal Epilogue

Damn the devil, this one cut deep. Hopefully you definitively see the ‘why’ my faith isn’t passive, and the ‘how’ I wrestle with fate, God, neurobiology, the psychological shadows, and self within the immortal question:

“Why does bad things happen to good people?”

Honestly, I do not have the answer; no one does, not really. But with each bout with the Beholder, I am not just listening, but actively fighting for it as the Working Man’s Wrestler. God demands it, you deserve it, and I am the southern swaggered Sum Bitch inviting the Devil down to Appalachia for a No-Holds-Barred match.

So with every bleed, every outreach, every unnoticed dust mites of devotion, walk away or stay. Either way, I am tuning up the fiddle…

Faith is not a comfortable shelter,

Sanctums in storms we can't outrun,

As a powerful witness in the cellar,

Offering a lifeline in the maelstrom.

Grace must be tested and refined,

The unspoken spoken before the Lord,

As the Tempests rage in soul and mind,

When implored, God does not ignore.

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“There is not a moment in which God does not present Himself under the cover of some pain to be endured, of some consolation to be enjoyed, or of some duty to be performed.” — Jean-Pierre de Caussade

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(Resolute In The Still Winds Of Change)

By Bocephus Jackson, The Hemlock Bard, ©2026 Bocephus Jackson. All Rights Reserved

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“Most people are perfectly afraid of silence.”— E. E. Cummings

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Benighted is the forest that dwells,

Within both the mind and weary soul,

Beyond the liminal heavens and hells,

We survive, then thrive in being whole.

Wars don’t need weapons to be won,

When grief sounds less like screaming,

As not all touch leaves scars upon,

In carrying both hatred and healing.

As time has plucked the petals bare,

The spirit within chooses to maintain,

The bracts carry a quiet mettle there,

Resolute in the still winds of change.

Within the canopy lies a quiet shelter,

Where the moonlit mist offers healing,

Faith in the dawn as our kind protector,

As the planted roots for our beginnings.

So stand watch upon every battlement,

Even when within a celestial famine,

Scars are medals, not embarrassment,

That blooms our flowering compassion.

Seeking the courage that dwells within,

A dogwood, by its instinct, will endure,

Finding the embrace of caring friends,

As nature eternally yields to nurture.

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“Healing is a matter of time, but it is also a matter of opportunity.” — Hippocrates of Kos, 460 BC-370 BC, Greek physician

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Author’s Reflection

“Sometimes the bravest and most important thing you can do is just show up.” — Brené Brown

This piece was inspired by my beloved friend Miss Aaliya and her Substack piece, ‘Writing Like My Life Depends On It.’ Through both theme and allusion, I hope to honor, celebrate, and carry forward her resilience.

Nature/nurture is therefore a double entendre contrasting life’s apathy amidst the forests (mental, emotional, physical), while instilling hope that even when scarred, we can rise above our nature (give up or give in) to embrace the nurture (community, nature’s unyielding resilience, and faith), even when within the Benighted Forests.

So, where Miss Aaliya remains forever stalwart in her compassion for others and dedication to the Art, she is a genuine beacon of hope that we all may blossom through each season of our lives. Through presence, not posture, even amid the storms, I hope to lend her encouragement to those who feel lost in the forest. She would expect nothing less.

So my friends, during this Easter weekend, may you find that familial dogwood to rest under and kindly reflect. As always, I thank you for your time and kind consideration. Back to work! Right then—

Faith isn’t governed by seasons…

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“Although the world is full of suffering, it is also full of the overcoming of it.” — Helen Keller

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your body keeps the score.

we spend years in talk therapy trying to explain our anxiety. we analyze our childhoods. we dissect our trauma.

but we forget one thing: emotions are biological.

anger is heat in the chest. fear is a knot in the stomach. grief is a heaviness in the throat. and chronic anxiety? it lives in your hips.

the psoas muscle (the muscle of the soul) is the only bridge between your spine and your legs. when you are scared, it curls you into a ball to protect your organs.

if you never tell your body "we are safe now," that muscle stays tight. for years.

you aren't broken. you are just stuck in a biological crouch.

the release protocol: you don't need to force it with painful stretching. you need somatic flow. gentle, weird little movements that trick your nervous system into letting go.

i documented the full process of unlocking the hips (and the tears that come with it) here: https://youtu.be/VAFb5kdtetQ