he spoke of his favorite philosophers. none of them spoke of love. i can only conclude: they didn’t know a damn thing
Tag: spiritual
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suffering breaks the silence, it does, it does. my mind’s gone quiet, there’s a quietness in stability. what do you do when all you’ve known your entire life is the sound of suffering?
i went to therapy and stopped having things to talk about. i opened my notebook, i had plenty to write about, little to whine about.
but the suffering, it changes its tone, living alone. i know i can feel still, books move me to tears. i can be moved, i can feel. but there is a quietness, it’s all so quiet.
i relish it, this silence is the sweetest sound.
stability is the strangest feeling after having known turbulent seas for so long— like hopping off a boat after the most treacherous of journeys. you can still feel the rocking of the ocean, even here, on solid ground. a phantom of the past.
but that’s all the past is, now: a ghost. i remember when i cried, night and day, for what i have now.
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The rest of the world is clothed, I alone am naked before a crowd. I run, and I hide — every spot I find is ripped from me — again, everyone’s eyes. Why am I so exposed? Why am I so bare? Why must I be so seen?
Why does the world hide? On me, I feel everyone’s eyes. Oh, my shame! I alone am a naturist in a world of Puritans. Their modesty makes me feel more naked than naked. A shadow cast over their eyes while I alone am thrust into the light. I can feel the judgement, I can feel the silent condemnation. But I can’t do it, I cannot hide! I’m stripped before the masses, but I think I’d suffer more standing among them, clothed, packed like sardines, side-by-side.
I cannot hide, cannot even try. But here am I, thrust into the light. I stand tall, I stand high: I bare it all. I need not hide.
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Chiron,
who can be worthy
to hold healing’s key
without first being wounded?
the initiate must suffer
and walk that long road.
along that path,
there are many a straggler.
many
who have given up the search
for some destination.
con artists
litter the sidelines,
selling their poison as healing.
but there is a light,
there is a light in that distance,
should you choose to see it.
but it is a long road.
it is a long road,
your body will ache,
you will tire,
but it is love
that suffers long,
it is love
that perseveres,
it is love alone
that guarantees safe passage.
you will take love’s hand—
she will not take away the ache,
but she will stroke your hair through it.
she will not cure your pain,
no, she will not erase your fear—
but she will sing to you through the night.
so walk that long road,
and take love
as your companion.
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things that i think are sins:
- being in a hurry all the time
- acting like every minor inconvenience is the universe conspiring against you
- never taking the time to simply observe the world without stimulation—just observation.
- being too afraid to ever create, or dance, or say hi to that stranger, or to tell that person how you feel. some of the deepest sins against oneself and the world happen not from malice, but from fear.
- never sincerely saying, “i love you.”
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you were shaped
like God
took his time with you—
the hidden hand
of the sculptor
carved you with intent,
like it relished
the shaping
of your lips,
the slope
of your hips.
but,
if this art
was by accident,
like
the splattered canvas
of a sunset,
then I’ll call
sheer randomness
my God,
and my savior—
for you are myth,
you’re poetry,
you’re music,
you are all things
divine.
who makes miracles?
I can’t say—
but, as far as they go,
you are mine.
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Mothers wail
on the other side of the wall.
Comfort’s hands
cover my ears.
Blood spills
on the other side of the wall.
Comfort’s hands
cover my eyes.
Bodies rot
on the other side of the wall.
Brother’s hands
cover my nose.
Children die
on the other side of the wall.
Brother’s voice
eases my mind.
In a world
of horrors, we’d rather be blind.
Brother, brother,
sing us a lullaby.
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Have you ever shut off
for years,
then had a reckoning where all that was forgotten
erupts
to the surface?
Have you ever shut off,
only to be set off
by a few words, maybe offhanded,
but cracking the ice on which you walked? and you fall, fall, fall,
into the cold, into the deep?
I hadn’t known these depths still existed. I’d gone so cold that the lake froze over. I forgot I walked on ice. I forgot a little bit of warmth would be peril. I forgot I could melt.
Remember: you can go cold for a time, but the Sun returns.
There’s no such thing
as an endless winter.
Be prepared for those waters,
that ice will melt.
THE CLOSET MYSTIC 