Thursday, November 3, 2011 Into the Silence
Into the silence of the soul
Where words shrug themselves
Where ideas wander looking for the shelter of a home,
I watch the disappearance of my self.
Small voice, dimming eyes,
Ears that miss the message
But hear the tone,
The pieces of my body are in place
But re-arranged in function.
Inward and outward collide and
Coalesce into notes
Scribbled in haste
Copying the music
Some Pied Piper is playing.
I am summoned.
We are all summoned one way or another; summoned into this life and summoned out of it. Much of what we do while we are here is try to figure out a way to dodge that last summons, to make fast friends with Whoever put us here to keep us safe and keep us in our best selves at some forever place.
That prayer doesn’t necessarily leave us as we age, but it does seem to find new ones surrounding it: don’t let me get too sick, please; spare me from the debilitations, from the clumsiness, from the dropping things, from the run-away memory that leaves me to go and sun itself on some island I’ve only dreamt about.
These are the kinds of things we find it so difficult to talk about with the very people who need to hear it: our family, our friends, our caretakers. In part we don’t want to burden them. But that’s only part of it. We very much don’t want to trigger the empty soothings that are sent to us, but meant for themselves.
Certainly witnessing our implosion, the physical, emotional and psychological shrinking into what we used to be and are now becoming cannot be easily endured. But the paradox is this: the more we avoid that reality as it becomes manifest, the more difficult it becomes. It seems we need to try as much as we can to embrace the moment by moment of the process, to hold ourselves and each other that other reality, the reality of our shared love.