We are floundering
on the shores of chaos.
All the normal pain of life
that we have arranged
and turned to
and away from
has lost its sense
in the face
of the stunning loss
of all
our compass points.
The north of cold and blue truth
is shifting so wildly
No explorer
can set off for its pole.
The south of warmth and compassion
is hiding deeply,
scared silly of its shadow,
the craven violence.
East and west
have traded places
with such alacrity
that the globe no longer knows
which way to turn.
We cry out into the darkness.
craving some way to know
if the birth of some child
Is coming,
With all this violence
this writhing, this dying.
And still
the pain drives home
Again and again.
To make our way through
we turn towards the sordid,
the darkness
The underbelly of it all
watching in fascination as it
Illuminates black screens
Runs in letters across headlines.
As if we cannot tear ourselves
away from the horror
of the mess we are making.
And must peer strait into
its most filthy depths
to become its familiar.
That perhaps by
smelling it, tasting it
Rubbing it in our eyes and ears
We may somehow
Incorporate it and
transform it with the very
Magic of our terror
Yet still, there’s another way
through the filth
The darkness and
the horror.
Like playing in the waves
of the ocean
We can dive under
The crest of that
Great undulation
that could otherwise
Smash this tender body
to a pulp
To find the stillness
below the noise breaking
above us
And get lost in the vastness
of that beautiful
Liquid universe,
That light.
As the mother,
birthing her child,
dives into the waves of pain
to meet the ocean
of all beings
that have ever
arrived.
