There is an ocean beneath the ocean
A well beneath the well
A deeper current beneath the river I know
This is where true grief lives
From an ancient place
A longing that hums in the dark
And breathes from the place of nowhere
It is harder to stay and grieve what is no more
Than to walk away and search for a new horizon
But it is in the staying
Where grace can find me and kiss the broken place within my heart
Death is tricky. Every time I think I surrender, I find a place within my psyche that is making hidden bargains with the reaper. Whatever trajectory feels most true, life keeps creeping in and revealing other plans. Resist, suffer, surrender, release. Wash, rinse, repeat. Be humbled on your knees to learn again what you thought you already knew. Become sustenance for the journey, honor your incarnation, but make no mistake that this body will be compost one day, food for the creatures who live in darkness.
Time is tricky. Linearity has no place here. What I think I am fearing for the future is really just a remembrance of the past, all happening at once, clouding my now with the voices of all time. One of them always whispering, “choose”. Choose what? Myself? Love? Truth? I’m tired. I take a nap in the void and emerge like a fresh baby, learning how to be here again.
Love is tricky. Some days, I don’t want it to be bigger than my human bonds. My personal heart wants what it wants when it wants it. But when she gets it, she can’t hold it. Her hands are too small for the mass that she has been given. So she buckles. And reaches down to find the place that can contain it. Except that’s no longer there either. So she cracks. And finds the crevice that points to freedom. I’ll come back to you later, thank you very much. Except when you taste the truth of love, it haunts you, and you can never un-know what is there, what is possible. But for now I slumber, and dream of emerald rings and holding hands walking through a bamboo forest and snuggling a furry puppy.
Life is tricky. We think we are alive. And we are. But are we really? There is a feeling in my spine each day, fluid that’s communicating the reminder of the fraction of what we have unlocked within ourselves in the pure potentiality of what it is to be human. We can hear the voices of life that do not use language to speak. We can feel the future, and travel through the past. We can change history through this travel. We can be the bridge for life to know itself. I am limited in this body, yet limitless in spirit. And this somehow can be translated into my matter, and I become all of life. My body aches to just stay, stay right there. Which takes me back to the trickiness of grief. That beautifully painful companion who serves as the lubricant through which more life flows into my being. Where the raputurous joy of being alive meets the grief of betrayal, separation, union. I want so badly for all of me to be here. And I am weary of paradox, of holding duality, and I long to rest in the one. Brief respites of consenting to peace become more frequent, until that little switch inside me gets flipped and boots me back into the drama of creation and my love of polarity and the pendulum keeps on swinging. And so we go. More life, more death, a song of eternal longing.