Compassion is the Fire
Some people carry around pain
For longer than they can remember,
Ten, 20, 30, 40 years, or a lifetime,
Perhaps beyond…
Abandonment, fear, grief,
Rejection, guilt,
Concealed in tombs of bones and cells,
Bodies numbed by decades of discontent.
Every being knows pain, but some find ways
To allow it to pass through them
With minimal resistance…
Mindfulness, self-compassion, dance,
nature, singing, drawing, crying…
some way to express what they suffer,
to give it voice, to let it flow,
and although they suffer, they
do not have to drag heavy bags
of bones around with them.
Others do have to, if they can, and
Walk the earth with gravity
As an adversary, weighed down
By a lifetime of being voiceless, a lifetime
Of having nowhere safe to feel.
Until, some day, they find a space,
A person, a people, a home, a group,
And find the voice of lonesome days
Moving in them as if those days were now.
And, encouraged by being welcomed,
Their story comes forth, the voice
Begins to break, the story
Continues, the body
Begins to shake, the story
Continues, and the tears begin
To fall, the waters of a lifetime
Flowing from ancient reservoirs of
Unspoken wounds, from eyes,
Throat, chest, gut,
The cry of the animals that we are,
Mammals in travail, in search
Of a warm place where we can
Rest a while.
And then the calm might come,
And those around us have remained,
Holding, listening, weeping,
Loving,
And then waiting,
If they can, until we come again.
And maybe we do, or perhaps
Move onto somewhere new, but
Nothing is ever the same again
For those who have been deeply heard.
A welcoming heart is a being renewed,
And compassion is the fire
That melts the ice of pain.
Some people carry around pain
For longer than they can remember,
Ten, 20, 30, 40 years, or a lifetime,
Perhaps beyond…
Abandonment, fear, grief,
Rejection, guilt,
Concealed in tombs of bones and cells,
Bodies numbed by decades of discontent.
Every being knows pain, but some find ways
To allow it to pass through them
With minimal resistance…
Mindfulness, self-compassion, dance,
nature, singing, drawing, crying…
some way to express what they suffer,
to give it voice, to let it flow,
and although they suffer, they
do not have to drag heavy bags
of bones around with them.
Others do have to, if they can, and
Walk the earth with gravity
As an adversary, weighed down
By a lifetime of being voiceless, a lifetime
Of having nowhere safe to feel.
Until, some day, they find a space,
A person, a people, a home, a group,
And find the voice of lonesome days
Moving in them as if those days were now.
And, encouraged by being welcomed,
Their story comes forth, the voice
Begins to break, the story
Continues, the body
Begins to shake, the story
Continues, and the tears begin
To fall, the waters of a lifetime
Flowing from ancient reservoirs of
Unspoken wounds, from eyes,
Throat, chest, gut,
The cry of the animals that we are,
Mammals in travail, in search
Of a warm place where we can
Rest a while.
And then the calm might come,
And those around us have remained,
Holding, listening, weeping,
Loving,
And then waiting,
If they can, until we come again.
And maybe we do, or perhaps
Move onto somewhere new, but
Nothing is ever the same again
For those who have been deeply heard.
A welcoming heart is a being renewed,
And compassion is the fire
That melts the ice of pain.
The Past Arising
ever the past is arising
in the moment,
exploding into the now, beckoning
me to turn my heart
back to some abandoned horizon,
some lost joy, anger, grief, disappointment,
at what has passed
or what has never been.
In this night, this now,
this water, this light, the past
has come again,
a mere murmur, but loud enough
in the stillness
to become, for a moment, me.
And this now, this light,
is then another now, another night:
a half-drunk girl singing bravely on the bus
...'I can feel my whole world changing'
and all around the Yorkhill summer alive,
and new horizons, hope and longing.
And now, the pain
of what has not become.
Once I 'left the past behind'
by looking to the future,
resisting through imagination
and desire, but in truth this merely
means that the past will arise anew
when this figment of a future
fails and falls apart,
for stagnant feelings stagnant
thoughts will make, and make.
So instead I say 'welcome'
and nothing more,
to the grief, anger, or guilt,
to the past arising,
and many times again, 'hello'.
Because a feeling is not a thought,
but a thought prolongs a feeling,
and a warm hello is all a feeling needs
to be set free,
however many ‘nows’ it might become
Before it finally fades.
Ever the past is arising,
ever the future forming,
ever the world is changing,
yet still the now remains.
Perhaps years from now,
In some unstable time,
I will return to this night, this now,
This water, this light, feel
The pain of it passing,
And say hello.
ever the past is arising
in the moment,
exploding into the now, beckoning
me to turn my heart
back to some abandoned horizon,
some lost joy, anger, grief, disappointment,
at what has passed
or what has never been.
In this night, this now,
this water, this light, the past
has come again,
a mere murmur, but loud enough
in the stillness
to become, for a moment, me.
And this now, this light,
is then another now, another night:
a half-drunk girl singing bravely on the bus
...'I can feel my whole world changing'
and all around the Yorkhill summer alive,
and new horizons, hope and longing.
And now, the pain
of what has not become.
Once I 'left the past behind'
by looking to the future,
resisting through imagination
and desire, but in truth this merely
means that the past will arise anew
when this figment of a future
fails and falls apart,
for stagnant feelings stagnant
thoughts will make, and make.
So instead I say 'welcome'
and nothing more,
to the grief, anger, or guilt,
to the past arising,
and many times again, 'hello'.
Because a feeling is not a thought,
but a thought prolongs a feeling,
and a warm hello is all a feeling needs
to be set free,
however many ‘nows’ it might become
Before it finally fades.
Ever the past is arising,
ever the future forming,
ever the world is changing,
yet still the now remains.
Perhaps years from now,
In some unstable time,
I will return to this night, this now,
This water, this light, feel
The pain of it passing,
And say hello.