Sometimes it’s hard to look behind the rubble
that others have build for you, piece by piece.
We see a mountain we can’t climb,
a tempest we can’t face.
It’s so hard to leave our cave.
The stony walls a powerful buffer
against anything that might come from outside.
We fumble with some dry twigs to light a fire
and gulp down the few drops of water
tumbling down from the ceiling.
Dear one, even Plato knew your state of mind
so intimately.
You don’t have the ingredients to cook a life
yet you keep bravely trying, you keep stirring
the empty pot.
I’m not asking you to grow a pair of wings
to fly above the ruins of your broken heart.
If you needed wings, the Beloved would have
given them to you, and make the sky surrender
to your flight.
No, I’m asking you to step towards the mountain
and use your nose to investigate.
Who knows, the mountain and the rain and the wind
that wants to blow your prison away
might have a friendly face and a gentle song
to lighten your way.
When you arrive to the dreaded forest
filled with creatures crawling in mud
take a moment to notice the buds
growing into deep green leaves
and how the ancient trees speak your name.
Know that here, beyond all things rational and orderly
Life and death is not what it seems.
Yes, the scary looking hag is waiting for you
She has a pot filled to the brim with life.
Yes, she might eat you alive and spit you back out
free from everything that used to paralyse you into
dwelling the land of of shadows before your time.
Ask the troll with the sharp ax what makes him get up
in the morning
and the black wolf where he hides his food.
It’s very possible that they’ll make you fight for the answer
and shake out everything that is not of instinct.
You have a voice to speak and ears to hear.
Eyes to see and a heart to feel.
Don’t assume that wild creatures are the enemy.
Remember that here, behind all things rational and orderly
life and death are not what they seem.