The Sunday Poem on Heart of Balance

First, there is the forgetting; The un-
folding of the fracturing. Forgett-
ing what love really is; forgetting of
the joy and bliss; forgetting of the precious
pulse. What is this forgetting that
covers all the land? Is it The Snow
Queen come to curse us with Heart’s Ice?
Then, there is betrayal, that ebb
and flow of choice. Go this way or go that
way? Follow the green and hairy man:
(A strangely seductive gardener?) Tunnel
or the rockface? Path or winding
stream? That faint sound of ethereal hymns,
murmuring of wind and broken wings?
The clotted market with its rising din?
Choices in the moment; choices
that return on wings of vengeance, loss,
and oozing wounds upon the morning’s rise.
A hideous monster has been spawned, upon
your soul’s dugs suckling; drawing you in
to circles new, and other shapes unknown,
Dis-membered, dis-connected. Then…
Discovery! Cup breaks, shakes, shivers
and cracks! Re-named. Plucked in a crawling instant!
A new gestalt of lurching gracelessness.
Graceless out of Plato’s piss-washed cave
you lurch, and blink, a reptile on a stage.
Re-membering that thing a shadow makes.
You only have one cloak to wear today;
Let it be a cloak of ash, to wrap-
around the newly suffering skin-
tatooed with grief that cannot be revealed.
Begone then! And return when you are healed!
(The good folk cannot stand your endless tears.)
You follow the less-travelled track.
Re-member/ Re-gain/ Re-turn! But all the other
fools have gone and it’s too late! Poor,
lost child. So here you are; a single fool,
so brightless and despairing. This
cracked mirror affronts our eyes! We do
not like its shape or size! We think it weaves
a weird disguise. We think it tells us lies!
Spinning in that flaring light, the web
that holds us all; a match-strike sparks out in
the night- Forgive! Forgive it all! It is
the way of alchemy, the journey of
the hero. The Soul’s truth and the wisdom
road: Feels like a transformation!
So…fall then on your sword each day.
Be carried home upon your shield.
Children’s tears shall wash your wounds
And the harsh Gods will wonder.
The blood will cry out of your caves.
The good folk will wonder:
Some will say, forget, others
say, re-member. ‘Lost
Light-bringer!’ they’ll say: ‘Re-member!’

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