I sat before her,
My chest tight,
Knowing that emotion just below the surface,
Wanting to express it,
As usual not really knowing how.
There is so much more I need to learn,
Of just how to let my emotions to simply be.
Of my past
Of my being left to myself at two years old,
Not knowing what was happening,
The meaning of it,
As if a two year old could understand that anyway.
One year in that prison,
Hyper self aware, on my own.
Trust not yet a concept,
Yet an experience I once had however fleeting,
Now ripped away without warning, or perpetration.
We talked of anger,
My inner rage that I have struggled with all my life,
A seeming unending source of emotional energy,
Seeking not to take it out on others,
Yet desiring to find some outlet
For that angry, rage filled, child of two.
No way to truly express it socially,
Something that has to be dealt with quietly.
When I would like to be able to just let loose in some way,
Bringing all the primitive energy,
Exploding from the depths of the earth,
To simply burst forth.
Yet how can this be done?
Anger is not safe,
Perhaps a form of insanity,
Like an eruption of short duration,
Yet it affects long lasting.
So we talk,
My voice does not quiver as I speak,
My body though still feeling the longing for release,
A sign of hope of possible change,
Perhaps healing below in the depths, beginning.
The hidden-ness of the process, sometimes a source of frustration,
Is there ever an end?
The past can only be freed from,
Its binding chains loosened,
Little by little,
Seeing what is its fruit.
Allowing the possibility of new growth.
I am not a victim nor that unique,
Life happens to us all.
Each has a story,
Of failure and success,
That must be traveled to the end.
In the end it is after all ourselves we struggle with,
The world an arena, or screen, where cycles are either worked out,
Endless in its repetition.
Yet I am not alone,
The Presence is always with me,
Accompanies me on my road
Of joy, love, pain, hatred and rage,
Healing in Itís simply being there,
Enfolding me in the coldest nights,
When I listen,
Words of strength,
To fight despair, self hatred, loathing.
This love heals by simply being.
Infinite love an ocean without beginning our end
Such is its nature,
Not sure that matters really,
Truth is truth,
Love is love,
Nothing can change that,
Or takes loves purpose or pursuit, away.
We are pursued by the infinite.
It is our fate,
What we are made for.
We are desired by the incomprehensible,
For many impossible to believe,
Others find it impossible not to.
To exist is a joy,
All the pain and bother notwithstanding,
Surrounded by beauty and those we love,
Lightens the journey,
Allows us to at times fly along the road
At times laughing at the wonder of it all,
The gift cannot be taken away.
We cannot help but dance,
Sometimes leading at others following,
Enfolded hidden by the infinite all the while.