Sunday, January 18, 2015
My Darknesses Eventually Turn
Distractions abound. Chickadees, women, moonlight - even the idea of justice. It's okay. Without metaphors, we starve, yet without starvation, we have no means to discover the loveliness inherent in what is always empty. What words wrought, words cannot untangle! Don't fight the yearning to fall but rather praise falling. As before dawn I slip out the back door and lean against the garage which smells of new paint despite the cold and recent snow. One more night with stars, with the space between stars, and with that which holds it all as one. All my darknesses eventually turn north, my mornings a hymn to that frozen sacred quadrant. The heart opens to every traveler and some stay longer than others. The prayer becomes a habit, then a duty, then a gift and then becomes a prayer again. The Beloved says: for a little while longer, yes? So, yes then. Yes.