We cling so tightly to our truth
that we miss insight,
We long for a world in our image
so we remove different,
We don’t want to be wrong,
so we insult instead.
We don’t want to self reflect,
so we don’t listen.
We; are lost.
Your pure cotton shirt catches the wind,
unfurling a sail on a mediterranean road. With a bright sunny nonchalant freedom
you toss away words, happy apple cores.
Be yourself, share yourself, be vulnerable,
each a final testament of an impossibility.
I cast a smile at your brown eagle eyes,
the warrior in me bravely chiseling away.
Faggot, sissy, stop crying, be a real man. The child feebly asks you for compassion,
as he blundering tries to heal old wounds.
I hang my hope on the wings of wild paper cranes.
Dancing regally in the wailing white winter snow.
I pray to the gods of the forsaken and the unbelievers.
Living in a darkened land of black and white desolation.
I bend my tired fingers around the folds of a thousand words.
Bringing you back to me in the colourful blossoms of spring.
Picture Credit: Vincent Manier
Lilith is the violinist, the violin, the note
stretching like a grant jeté across a stage.
She’s the summer straw hat ray of sun
breaking through sad face winter clouds.
She’s the last grateful smiling hallelujah
in the mournful choir humming a cappella.
Lilith is the steel blue motionless whispers,
of that arresting gaze demanding silence.
Lilith is the hushed interlude drawing you
to the heart of an interstellar black hole.
She’s the winged child serpent goddess
contained in an eruption of angelic power.
Lilith is the innocence of desire calling
in passion to be beheld but never owned.
Don’t build a monument at the place of your revelation lest it becomes dogma. Rather pitch a tent in honour of the fleeting nature of ‘wisdom’ & the truth that we are but children in the cosmos.
This is the question I have.
How do we find a balance between the commitment we made to have and to hold in sickness and in health and living in an environment that is not good for us? Whether it hurts us spiritualy, emotionally or physically. Perhaps it is as simple as living an environment that does not allow us to evolve. Perhaps it is an environment that does not allow us to be or to become who feel we are meant to be.
Where do we draw the line between loving the other and loving ourselves? When is it ok acknowledge that the other person is failing in their commitment? Failing to such a degree and for such a long period of time, with no sign of change, that I’m absolved from my commitment? That it is then reasonable for me to love myself first and take care of myself first, whatever form that might take.
Or to be even more nuanced: what if we realise that the environment we have planted ourselves in does not allow us to grow and prosper? That it, in fact, has nothing to do with the other person’s possible failings but simply the result of the context in which we find ourselves. Then it is not personal at all. Then asking the other person to change would be cruel since we are asking them to do something that we ourselves have tried and we came to a conclusion that it is not healthy for us. How do we own this fact? When is it ok to go and find a place that soothes us and people who give us what we need?
Or is it our duty to have and to hold?
I suspect that the answer must be an inner one.
Any seed of doubt, any deflection of responsibility or unjustified projection of blame will poison the process and therefore, the outcome.
Your cries I will hear not
Not from your bell towers
or your minarets
Your inner chambers
or from your public places
There is a child crying
It calls me by my name
you hear it not
You say that thing is not mine
So I say I know you not.