Dark place, deep place, old place

Dark place, deep place, old place

 

I am in the dark place;

So dark I cannot see the walls,

Only the light that glimmers

Faintly round the edges of my hands.

Not enough to see by,

Only enough to remind me

That I still exist at all.

I hear distant voices,

Too far off to tell

Whether they mock me,

Encourage me, torment me

Or are simply oblivious

That I am here alone

In the dark place again.

It’s cold, but it always is here,

The steady unchanging chill

Of cellar or deep cave

Untouched by warmth of sun

Or the night-ice of frosts.

I am in the deep place,

So deep I cannot see the sky,

Only hear the birdsong

Far off in the distant world.

Not enough to climb towards,

Only enough to remind me

That the world exists at all.

My own voice rises,

Too indistinct for anyone to tell

Whether I am calling for help,

Or crying or simply singing,

Having forgotten the world out there

And have settled down to wait,

Here in the deep place alone.

It’s damp here, but it always is,

With the constant moisture

Of rivers and the moving spirit

Untouched by the need to conform,

To twist the soul to safe shapes.

I am in the old place,

So old I feel like a child again,

Only the heartbeat of earth

Distantly drumming in my ears,

Not enough to dominate,

Only enough to remind me

That I am not truly alone:

When I lie waiting to be reborn,

I lie surrounded by bright spirits

Whose home is here

In the dark place,

The deep place,

The old place

And who wait to guide me

Back to the healing light.

I have put this in today in response to an inspirational piece “Embracing the Shadow” over at Fibi’s blog  http://searchforwisdom.wordpress.com

 

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3 thoughts on “Dark place, deep place, old place

  1. Wow Viv..

    Your ability to put those feelings down in such a way that can describe the depths to anyone (even those who have never truly experienced them) is awesome..

    Great post..

    Hugs..

    • Thank you.
      I wrote that one when I was deep in the dark place but had a faint breeze blowing that told me this was not the end!
      hugs to you too!!!

  2. Pingback: Was I God’s photographer? « Zen and the art of tightrope walking

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