Falling

Always scared of falling, I clung on

Holding fast to anything that seemed secure

Eventually, it all gave way

And I dangled, desperately bracing

Against the inevitable screaming descent

Of my solid body to the ground

Finally, I jump
(Having exhausted every other option)

But instead of the expected terrifying hurtle

I’m caught by a gentle upward draught

Stunned, I discover my weightlessness

And the total absence of places to land

All further struggle rendered unnecessary

This Is An All-Inclusive Ticket

Believing yourself unworthy, deeply flawed, or incomplete

You deny your total acceptability

However, if you read the small print

You’ll see that this is an all-inclusive ticket

With no caveats, exclusions, or conditions

There’s nothing to dispose of, box up or pack away

The price of admission covers everything

And no further payments are required

Strangely Silent

Lately, this room has fallen strangely silent

The white table there, the books on the shelf,

And the two mismatched rugs, all suddenly quiet

The recently-gathered dust balls have ceased their taunting

No more recriminations from the dirt on the floor

No further complaints from the unopened paint cans

Not one extra dose of shame from the unpacked box

The yet-to-be-fixed coat hooks or even the peeling wallpaper

Now that there is no one here to listen

To take delivery of fault or blame

None of it has a word to say

How still this room has become

How strangely silent

The Door

A long time ago

You began knocking at my door

And a thousand times a day

I’d refuse to answer

Believing that the door was locked

And that I didn’t have a key

I sought out master locksmiths

Thinking it was a complicated matter

Which would take some solving

Now it turns out

The door was always ajar

And you were simply waiting for me

To get up and open it

On Barking Up The Wrong Tree

You’ve been barking up the wrong tree

You think you want out of this

But what you most long for is to be right in it

You think you want it all to stop

Yet what you’re yearning for is the start

You think you’re afraid to die

In fact, you’re afraid to live

Scared witless by your untamed aliveness

You think you want love to make you whole

When really what your heart most wants

Is for love to take you apart

So that you can taste the sweet fruits of annihilation

You think you should keep it all together

Your true longing is for it all to fall apart

So catastrophically that you’ll be left with nothing

And the game will be over

I know, I know

It all got so horribly complicated

And you thought that’s what life was

Trust me

When you see the sheer simplicity of this

It will take your breath away

On Sunday Afternoon

I contain the world.

Surely

I can’t be this

I’m not allowed to be this

I should be cut down to size, restricted, belittled.

Then comes the relief: I thought it would never end.

It’s over.

I made it.

I was barren, yet now I bear fruit.

Was lost, yet now am found.

Such heartbreaking beauty. The struggle is over.

I shut down.

I tried to keep it in.

I tried to keep it out.

I never wanted to leave, but there was no choice.

Heartbroken, we stumble.

Such desperate longing, yearning.

I thought I didn’t have it.

I thought I wasn’t God.

I failed to see my own perfection.

Constantly feeling there was something to be done.

It couldn’t be here or this.

It couldn’t be now.

Missing beyond missing.

Grief beyond grief.

Utterly, utterly undone. Laid waste. Razed to the ground.

The gatekeeper, the vigilant one

Parcelling, limiting, confining, controlling, holding, scared

Terrified witless, actually.

Such safety in limitation

Such safety in borders

Freedom and limitlessness so far beyond comprehension.

Lost and found were never, ever separate from each other.

Each other: such love in those words

The deep embrace we think we’ve lost

The deep embrace that never left.

In our brokenness lies our completeness

In our fragility lies our strength

We are forged by our undoing.

Falling into each other’s arms

All the richer for discovering there is no other.

Never abandoned, left or forsaken

Never betrayed, rejected or neglected

Such tales we tell.

Then what? We wonder.

What now?

No end and no beginning.

Aliveness.

Intimacy.

Blessed rest.

On Realising (Again) That It's All Okay

It's okay that I fucked up.

It's okay that I've been messy, dysfunctional, intense, afraid, anxious, sad, angry.

It's okay that I've gone down the wrong roads, had the wrong relationships, cried on my friends' shoulders, drowned in shame. 

It's okay that I've regretted, yearned and resented. 

It's okay that I haven't done better, that I could have done more. 

It's okay that I've been neurotic, obsessed, overly-self critical. 

It's okay that I've sobbed, curled up naked in the foetal position, until my head ached and my eyes throbbed. 

It's okay that I've tried so hard to make it all okay again. 

It's okay that I didn't find the Promised Land or the perfect lover. 

It's okay that I can't do what I can't do, that there are times when I'm utterly incompetent.

It's okay that I'm sensitive and prone to introspection. 

I realise - again - that this is not about changing, eradicating or creating myself anew. It's simply about loving this, here and now, whatever this is.