Something was missing, awry, incomplete, Lost
Something undefined haunted, just outside of comprehension
An Un-Thought Known, a Soul’s itch that can not be scratched
Searching for an answer to a question not asked
Seeking a treasure rumored to exist somehow, somewhere
Beautiful echoes, fine like a razor, opening closed spaces
Fragrance on the breeze enchants, calls, inspires
The taste of blue, gold, and brown, known but not realized
(I can hear the sunlight, the birth of stars, all known but not realized. Alt.)
Soul extended, seeking to touch the moon, always out of reach, lunacy
Reflections glimpsed on the periphery of matter yet never beheld
Source of longing hidden, unfathomable like echoes, fragrances, the flavor of blue
Senses, flesh, building empty treasure houses
Pilgrimage to no-where, there and back, there and back
Hope, disappointment, grief, hope, disappointment, grief
Tired, sinking low under the weight, all the houses have crumbled
Senses, Spirit, Soul, unfettered for a season
Ego humbled by folly
Yet even as the dust settled around and over the debris
There was laughter, a sweet simple melody, rich as the Earth
Quickened now, thirst creates a new and unseen path
As “I” crumbled my Self was found
The treasure is always in the heart of the Temple
The fool has died, but the Jester remains
I was lost but now am found
Was blind but now I see
There was a maiden who had forgotten how beautiful she was. Now at times she could remember, almost. The images, the feelings, would dance just out of reach and it made her sad.
Sometimes she would forget that she had forgotten and the sadness would leave her for a while.
One day as she was walking in the wood she found a magic mirror. She could cast her gaze there and see herself reflected back. The mirror would speak to her using words that she had never known. And the mirror would show her herself in fine details she had never noticed.
She began to glimpse line and curve and hue which hinted at the glory of the Being beneath the form.
She saw herself through the eyes of the mirror and was lifted up out of the ordinary into the realm of her true self, her true habitation. And she came again, and again, and again. How could she not? There was happiness there.
But one day the girl noticed that the mirror had lost some of its shine. And as she examined it more closely she noticed small fractures around it edges. She had not realized that the mirror was so fragile.
Frightened, she wondered what to do. What would it be like if the mirror faded or was broken. How could she go on without it? Could she find another mirror? At least something shiny enough to occasionally catch a glimpse of the glorious being the mirror told her she was?
She was angry. She felt tricked and foolish. She felt weak and exposed in her need. Why had she looked to start with? That damned mirror had caused her to want to believe. It was not her fault it was so feeble. She tossed it aside and ran. Angry, hot, desperate tears flowing as a primal wail escaped her throat.
She came to a pool, cool, clear, and still as death. She thought to wash herself and drink to soothe the bitter dry ache in her throat. But as she turned toward the pool she caught a glimpse of something in the pool’s reflection. She was startled and horrified by what she saw there. She recognized her own shape and face but also there was part of her she did not know. Wraith-like a specter loomed green red and yellow. Jealousy, hate, and fear, shone through her eyes and were reflected back to herself. Greed and callous hunger called and beckoned her to come, to surrender.
She moaned. She wailed. Streams of bitter tears flooded. Grief unknown, yet not altogether strange, saturated her being until the very last of the very last of her was undone. Silence. Stillness. No sound. No wind. Only breathing.
She pondered the two visions she had seen of herself. She remembered their very different power over her. One was damnation. The other was Life. Having glimpsed both sides now she understood that the power of the mirror had always come from her. And each time the mirror spoke some of its magic was diminished.
In the beginning she had responded with her full self. The energy of her response gave back to the mirror so that neither were injured.
The mirror would point out the unique and fine details of her and her heart would soar. She knew her beauty was real. She began to believe and trust that the mirror would tell her only the truth. She had exulted in the glory of her. Her heart had tentatively began to open and relax. Her patterns were brighter, hopeful, she could even play a bit now. Yet sometimes in her living she would need to remember again and would return to gaze there once more.
She was right about her trust in the mirror. It would always reflect back to her and only the truth. And after a while the mirror began to reflect details and forms and frightening dark things that she drew back from.
She began to withdraw her self and her energy from the mirror and it was weakened. It began to fade and soon the small fissures could be seen growing around its edges.
There in the stillness she tried to put the pieces back together. She was saddened but she was also angered by the demands placed upon her. All she had wanted was to glimpse her beauty but the darkness kept peering at her around the edges. And now in that holy place between despair and rage a great wave of grief sprang forth washing over her. Grief for both all that she had lost, and all that she might have been. She rode the waves as they washed her weary soul. She remembered. She remembered everything. And as she remembered, compassion was birthed from her grieving heart. Compassion for herself and compassion for all those who have trod this earth. And in the doing she found and gave forgiveness and was freed.
After many days, and many beats of her heart she chose. She picked up the mirror and begin to look there once more. Only this time she did not giggle and flutter like a school girl when she recognized her singular and most exquisite self. Moment by moment, heartbeat by heartbeat, she began to respond again to the mirror. And when the darker places, buried, or hidden were revealed she did not swoon or run away. She looked longest and deepest at those things now. And as she did even those things began to take on a sublime radiance that took her breath away.
She began to talk back and reflect to the mirror what she saw and what she was learning. And after a time the mirror was whole again. By this time she no longer needed the mirror to exist. She was weaned from her dependence on the reflection. But she would still come to sit and look and listen and be.
She had begun to know herself and the glory of her shook the very earth.
One day she was walking in the wood and happened upon a young maiden who had forgotten how beautiful she was . . . . .
I posted this on another blog lately in response to the author’s musings about the writing process and doing life in general. There was a line in her article about sometimes we have to reach out to new experiences and people and “ask if we can play too.”
“asking if we can play too” . . . Maybe that is all that “become as a little child” means. 🙂 Very sweet. I needed some sweetness today. Thank you. I am very new to all this blogging. My grown children had to show me how to get started. It’s kinda fun to be ignorant again. Stupid has gotten old 🙂 . Me just sticking my toe into these alien waters is so far from the “competence” I had grown accustomed to. I have begun to shyly comment and follow (if those are the correct terms). Each time I do I feel like an elementary school boy with his new cigar box filled with the smells of pencils and erasers and Elmer’s paste tucked under his arm. I laughed in a good way at myself when I read that line. So I guess this is the boy who still resides in and sometimes peeps out through these 51-year-old eyes asking if “I can play too”.
I have thought about this idea for some days now. Wondering if that shy vulnerable place was a doorway that I have typically avoided. And because I avoided it I have left something behind that now I must find a way to reclaim. I vividly recall the sights and sounds and smells even some of the faces I encountered along the way. I remember the sense of isolation and feeling exposed. New school. New boy. New people. Unknown. It is interesting that I remember that feeling but don’t remember much of what happened to overcome it. What did the boy do? We moved quite a bit during my early school years so it was a familiar experience. I think I began to piece together certain patterned responses to situations that merely got refined and updated through the decades and changing contexts. Making touchdowns, being funny, thoughtfulness helped, being “smart” was a plus, and they were all a part of finding a way to be in the loop. But really it was more about avoiding being left out than actively pursuing being in. I became quite competent in most situations and exceptional in a few. But . . . and this is a huge but, I was still alone and for the most part unknown outside the roles I played in other people’s lives. My identity and living became attached to other people’s needs, wants, and goals, and my ability to anticipate and respond adequately to them. On many levels this is appropriate and good except that I stopped consulting that shy, inquisitive, creative little boy in me. I left him behind somewhere and have orphaned myself.
There has always been a thought in my mind and heart usually just out of conscious reach but there just beneath the surface. It was something to the effect of “One day after I have done enough, helped enough, sacrificed enough, achieved enough . . . then I could rest and do what I wanted, have what I wanted.” The funny thing is that I never really knew what it was I wanted. Even now it is still opaque, vaguely outlined in emotion more than a burning clear vision. You see, I never asked the boy. Never thought to, assuming that all he had to offer was weakness. But now I think he knows, or at least he knows where to look. So it seems I have become a clever man without much practice or knowledge of how to play, or let go, or just be. I have left behind the childlike part of me and have injured myself. But . . . and this is another big but, I find myself back where I left off. Shy and vulnerable and unsure, working up the nerve to ask “if I can play too?”. Perhaps walking through those doors long avoided will finally lead me to the place I have wanted to be for so long. Be Groovy!
