Moment of Becoming
In the deep, dark beyond
In the black emptiness
A spark appears
Pops into this realm of time and space
Pushed through the black featureless velvet
By ………………?
The spark is a fragment of anther realm beyond the dark beyond
The spark is a being becoming
The being only has one feeling
Grief. Pure, abiding grief
at the loss of …………..
at the loss of …………….
Whence it came
It left the source and entered here
It only feels the loss
The emptiness surrounds it
The spark goes forward with the being into life
Life says, “Forget the grief, bury the loss”
Yet the echoes resound
And re-sound louder and louder
As the decades pass
The spark is the constant
The reminder of the source
Silently insisting
“Your grief is a mirror of the boundless love you lost
Which is still there”
Which is still there!
The boundless love is here too, Philip. It’s absolutely within you and not separate from where you came from, or where any of us came from – or where we are or where we are going to. Seems to me the energy wrapped up in the grief can be available in it’s constructive form – which is love – it’s all life force – just what we define it as results in the feeling we end up with. These are just knee jerk thoughts to your blog. Delxx
PS from Del – of course your ‘blog’ was a poem so I appreciate it is a creative expression and not necessarily a description of your reality. xx
Unfortunately it is very often and has been mostly a description of my reality, Del.
I have heard and read many people express what you write and I deeply hope that this is how you live, that this is, in some measure at least, what is happening for you. What a blessing.
It is not so for me. What I hope is that this newly arising awareness will make it possible for me to go where you are pointing. Turn the grief into love. I have a vague, new stirring of awareness that in some way they are the same thing. X P
Reminds me of the poem Schizoid by Karol Wojtyla (late Pope John Paul)
There are moments, hollow without hope;
Will I ever light up a thought,
Ever strike warm sparks from my heart?
Don’t push me aside, don’t recoil from my anger.
This isn’t anger – no, no – it’s only an empty shore.
The slightest weight is too much for me,
I walk on and feel I’m not moving at all.
You never stand still, remember; your strength
Recharges in silence: it will find its way.
Your strength will explode.
And then without violence, not instantly wholly yourself,
You must give heart-space to your moments, space to the
Pressure if will.
There is growth in hollow stagnation;
Your fever shot eyes must not
Burn it to ashes.