I think and feel that I’ve fallen too short of my whole self, this last year. Too angular; too sharply channelled through too few facets of the prism. Reflecting shadow, both my own and not mine, has been cathartic, intriguing, spiralling but would hollow through the inadequacy of its ease.
Faith in Humanity, has been rattled but not destroyed nor yet diminished. Faith in my own has been more tested but it will not fail. We fall that we may rise…
Anger to replace the tears
Delaying fear for the state of humanity
In the very expression of it.
Eat the soul to feed the words;
Become what is looking.
No: Soul can cope. But must she?
And can the air, made acrid where she talks?
The heart and mind say she doesn’t have to.
Rest, now, there is no gap to fill.
I danced with the lashing rain until
I was a lash. Let more words spill
In softer drops. And walk between the shards
To deeper in. There, stand in the storm’s quiet place
And look it in the eye.
To those of you still here, still reading, I thank you for your patience. To those of you who come for the snark, I’m not about to go all fluffy unicorns and angels light but I will try not to be quite so sharp-tongued and unforgiving quite so often. Even if that means writing less. But, who knows: maybe it will lead to writing more… xXx
“Love redeemeth, Love lifteth up, Love enlighteneth, Love advanceth Soules.
Verilie Love is doubly blessed, for she enricheth both giver and receiver.
And if any creature whom thou lovest suffereth death and departeth from thee:
Fain wouldst thou give of thine Hearte’s Blood…
Behold, Love is a ransome and the teares thereof are prayeres. Yea, thy love shall enfold the Soule which thou lovest. Thy prayeres shall lift him up and thy teares shall encompass his steppes. Thy love shall be to him as Light shining upon the upward Waye.
And the Angels of God shall say unto him, ‘O happie Soule, that art so well beloved; that art made strong with all these teares and sighs. O little Soule, thou art mighty if a child of God love thee. Thou art possessed of great riches.’
For every cry is a prayere and all prayere is Power.
For in the eyes of Love, there is nothing little nor unworthy of Prayere.”
[Anna (Bonus) Kingsford, Clothed With The Sun]
**** *** ** *
When the worst of us takes the best of us,
Let not the bright embodiment of Hope be lost
But pour the Light of Love into the void,
That Humanity may rise to honour Life.