Sunken

All of it happened

All of it finite, all of it gone

Yet here’s me

trying to rearrange the chairs

on the long-submerged deck

as if there is still a chance

of rendering the shipwreck bearable, somehow

Many leagues beneath this futile activity

Abundant life blooms in the stillness, undisturbed.

(Better sailors know when to jump ship)

Eve Was A Realist

I feigned ignorance (until that first touch)

But mercifully my spell in Eden was brief;

I tumbled from the garden bruised, but ever-grateful

that we can’t unknow what we know

Surely we’ve all bitten into the apple a little too eagerly at times,

intent on proving our innocence?

Eve was a realist

She knew it was time to blow the whistle

on all Adam’s fig-leaf cover ups

And like all good messengers, she got shot

In the silence, I hear her whisper:

Tree or no tree, you already know how naked you are

So stop pretending otherwise.

We Are Land, Too

This is not the time to break:

Much as I long for the refuge of the waters,

that headlong dive into brokenness,

we are made of stone, too, and can contain

all that flows

Holding our shape, the granite of our bones such a necessary strength

If we’re to avoid a drowning

Mammals of land and sea

Shallow, deep

Liquid and solid

We are beyond yet needful of both

As dependent on one as the other

Study the charts:

Sometimes it’s wiser to answer the Sirens’ call

And bask on the rocks a while

The wind and sun drying our skin

Our contours once again defined

Trust me, the depths will reclaim us soon enough.

Absolution

I came to you wanting

but I really didn’t want this

I thought this was a boat I could miss

but postponement is no longer an option

I loved you too much to come this close

I kneel at your door, and you let me in

This is absolution:

it was the forgiveness I couldn’t stand

In the Museum of Suffering

My carefully curated collection

has been well-tended, as has yours;

We stayed with the cross long after

Christ himself had ascended into heaven,

our suffering  selves sanctified and idolised

and the meaning of his supposed death lost on us

Do not make a special case for suffering:

those velvet-bound exhibits in their glass cabinets,

however precious, do not confer nobility nor special blessings

(I believed that my soul would profit, but that was a lie).

We fetishised the cross, and postponed the resurrection. 

The World, And You

There is no difference

(It’s all in me)

It’s so much simpler than you think;

There’s nothing to monitor, evaluate, control, compare

There’s nothing to save (or lose)

There’s only one coin, despite

Our ability to see both sides

Those grand opposites –

Life and death, better or worse, up or down –

No longer holding sway

How much I’ve longed for this

How much I’ve longed to be back here

Where being has no opposite

(For there is no opposite to isness)

Where there is endless space in which to meet

As you are, so is the world

As the world is, so are you;

Some regions beautiful, privileged

Other areas dispossessed, neglected

Whatever you do to you, you do to the world

Whatever you do to the world, you do to you,

For there is no difference

This Body

This body needs no further instruction

I lost the ability to move

Except by decree;

The postures, poses and forms

Externally prescribed, and restrictive

This body became a stranger, foreign

Its motives suspect, its needs unconscionable

It mutinied, of course

Who wouldn’t under such a regime?

Its energy sequestered

Its forces subjugated to purposes not its own

It failed to thrive

Howling at the restraints of civility

Now, it starts to move

Entirely on its own terms

And surprises me

Possessed of a deep well of resources

Its grace and wisdom become apparent

As it begins to forgive these decades of neglect

I crawl, delighted

I rest on my haunches, enthused