Life encircles like a necklace of fire,
unwilling that I should escape
or hide in isolation,
speaking through pain
and the mysteries of sleep,
each day like another
as if someone were dreaming.
Then suddenly the Self emerges,
ten thousand years assured.
Gently He awakes
yet His steps are like thunder.
The knife in my groin
is Him coming forth.
May the gods be merciful.
He is lightning.
This poem has a bit of Hugh Malafry’s “the horses of the Lord and the sons of thunder” about it, but closer in, more intimate. It also returns my memory to when Peter had prostate cancer, how poetry helped, how mythologizing somehow helps us deal with the details of our life progression.
The waking up process can be painful but my experience says it doesn’t have to be. But we are all called to be authentic, to drop the mask of egoic pretense and boldly step into our power.
I believe the gods ARE merciful if we genuinely want liberation.
Lovely poem, Don. Thanks.
Love this poem, Don. The true Self will emerge. God is merciful. Neither the sleeping dream nor the waking dream can ultimately prevent the inevitable. I see the “knife in the groin” as my ego resistance to the emergence of Self, only necessary if I insist on fighting the Creative Process.
I hear you, my Friend. My blessing and love as you speak so beautifully through pain.