If you step back from it, you are almost moved to tears, but If you step up to it, you are almost moved to kill. If you step away from it, you are what appears to disappear, and once you manage to leave it behind you most certainly will. If you confront it you will attempt its destruction, and if you avoid it, it will destroy you. If you rise above it, you will be moved to fly, but if you even as much as notice it, you will never move.
If you take the lower road, you will never forget it, but if you take the higher road, you will always be remembered. If you define it you will surely lose yourself, and until it is finally named it will make sure you never know who you are. For if you were to say the name, point out what it is, it would lose it’s power over you. And yet by giving it the names of silence, you forfeit the power hidden within your self. If you ever try to lose it, you will be moved to find it again, and if you ever come across it, you will be moved to run. And if you try to hide it, it will come for you, but were you to shine a light on it, there you would see nothing.
Wild, wild, those unacknowledged things that shake the foundations of our friendships and histories, Taking on a life of their own. Wild, wild, what of you is forgotten yet always remembered? No permission for expression, it turns on it’s creator. For if you have ever lived, you would by nature be this wild creature. What happened that now we do not recognize our own passion, or understand that fear is love pushed away until it has no where to turn except against itself? Whenever you fear it, you give it more power, and whenever you choose to love it, it will no longer be needed.
Tamed, tamed, our fierceness, our passions, our love and our fear, our voices grown silent. Tamed, we continue the taming of our selves, our children. How is it we fool ourselves into believing the lie that no wildness is ever lurking, that we have squelched the last drops of honor out of our very souls, that no drop of resilience reddens the cells in our blood as they surface? Oh if you know it, you will not believe such foolish things, and if everyone knew it, justice would no longer be necessary.
Look at me, and do not look away, and give me one justification for war, one reason why the daughter cells we continue to divide are not as their earlier generations, one and the same. Convince me we are not the same, that is, if you dare to do it. Ah my friend, if you never recognize the endless knot out of which all is woven, nothing else will matter. For you, truth will ring in hollow empty shells. The light to you will be dull and demure. Sounds to you will be distant echos of dreams. For you the world will never be more than it seems. For you see, it will not dawn on you to turn on the light within yourself, to make your own music.
If instead, turning, you saw the pattern of the intertwining, you would be moved to bury your anger for each other in the sand. And after so suddenly changing into friends, what would it be like, then? You have forgotten what it would be like. And so you let it polarize you, fragmenting into opposites: right and wrong, this and that, us and them, the changer and the changed. These opposites are just one face of it, and turning again face to face with it, we come face to face with ourselves. It is that powerful, you know. It’s power lies in our belief in it. We can wave it away with a hand. And what is strong enough to drive us apart, is within our power to come together again. For we need not return to a place we have never left, or gather pieces of a whole that has never been parted. It is all that we are.
3 thoughts on “The Illusion of Separateness”
Your poetry is beautiful! And so are you. Mermaid
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Thanks, mom. 🙂
That gave me chills. The awen, from the deep you bring it.