Friday, July 26, 2013

Spiritual Poetry: That Which Lurks Below

shadow spirituality, spiritual image
I'm very excited to be able to share another poem by my student, Rach. In this poem, I've encouraged her as I encourage you to look into the dark and lonely places hidden within. If we are ever to fully stand in our light, we have to embrace every last inch of ourselves, including all those things that we've left in the dark.

I hope this poem offers you a broader perspective on spirituality beyond any limiting ideas that spirituality is just what feels good or only that which is pure and starched white, cleanliness. While this poem isn't meant to help you linger longer than necessary in such places, it is an encouragement that you can face it, and with love and occasionally a little help, you will find your way through.




That Which Lurks Below



Broken body, beaten, battered, bruised.
In this struggle to self-soothe
Beautiful body, heart, soul, Spirit abused.

Down in the deserted swamp, the depths deep below
Something protecting something lurking low
Something says you cannot, will not go
This fearsome fear of finding, facing that which lingers, which lurks below
Something terrifying, dirty, lurks, lingers and grows.

Fear screaming is scheming, desperate that I don’t dare go
Full sure I’ll meet my fate.
A deadly threat awaiting behind this quashed, squashed, hidden Hell’s gate.

What is now a frantic fear,
A relentless warrior at war to steer clear
Instills an insidious, tiresome, gruesome need inside
To ignore, protect, run, and hide.

It figures that filling full, forcing shut this potentially poisonous pit,
That covering, buffering, surrounding, cushioning with all kinds of shit
Is this the answer? Yes this is it!
Stuffing, muffling with sweetness, splurging
With sugar, alcohol spilling over—senses sent surging…

Clings tight like an abandoned child in the night to this comfort rush
To this ‘run and hide and ignore what’s inside’ rollercoaster ride.
A circus of fake instant pleasure,
A short-term, draining, dangerous measure.
Futile fix.
Drastic deadly mix.
In this fumbling, stumbling following of this messy, murky tainted trail
Fears promise of solace …Failed!

In its manic panic to to suppress, to see slain
The perceived possible pending pain
Food, fears drug of the moment is dealt to the need
To escape, to disengage, to be freed.
That which is meant to nurture, to nourish,
Lend life it’s flow and glow to flourish
Fuels instead a frenzied feed
Which sees this magnificent, miraculous sacred Self, Spirit , heart, body, mind and soul left abandoned and lost to weep and bleed..

So this dwelling darkness lingers still
Staying put patiently until...
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