Thursday, 29 May 2014
Spirit of Aliveness II: The Joyful Anguish of Love
Dedicated to Elder Maya Angelou, April 4th 1928 - May 28th 2014
Thank you for your inspiring way wive wordz
A sudden impulse interrupts the stillness of these silent, morning hours. Something enchanting is happening that only your spirit knows. You’ll want to but find it impossible to describe the sensation to others. And were you careful to contain the magic you would not attempt to speak the feeling into the grimness of material expression. Instead you would embrace the secret rhythm of its contours. You would marvel at the absolute perfection of the indulgent mystery that only you alone are experiencing. Those sunken eyes, waning smiles, frivolous chatter that had maligned your ears now affirm that only you are in this sacred moment - immersed in this vitalising tranquillity. Such is the delightful brazenness of this particular love. It expects you to attend completely to its variant tides: sweetening bitter memories, embittering ecstasies. Those tides demand your earnest control. And yet beg you to completely let go. You are afraid of what you have always known and distrust what for so long you considered safe. But there had never been any promises – no one had told you so. All this has been summoned by you somehow. How can you reject what you have conjured beyond wilful imagination? Can this gracious blessing be so utterly accursed? The tenderness is strumming something terrifying yet prompting you to yield. And you want to. The touch would render magnetic those dormant dreams, embolden your slack feet to refine some new dance. Your stilted smiles would reclaim their vibrancy. Gone would be the frivolity scorching your ears; instead you would arise to the musings of migrating birds, the whisperings of a nearby river, subtle melodies in the trees. Something meddling stirs your uncertainty – there is little comfort in these unknown pleasures. But this particular joy anointing you with its kind of love feels so wonderful, radiating every part of you. The heaviness in your head mirrors the giddy flutterings in your heart. You do not wish to deny the delight nor the ache - glistening your eyes with such blissful sadness. Everything seems gloriously enchanted like the tumbling to earth of a million and more stars. The light overwhelms you. But the spark is yet delicate, though wary of touch. You squeeze your eyes shut willing the enchantment to last. For there in the deep stillness myriad connections are made, the alignment precise and dazzling. Although your spirit knows you dare not ask for a name, to annul this sumptuous illusion. The only decision you seem able to make is to remain in the graceful pose lest even the gentlest waver disturbs the golden glow. Yet the stillness feels like a haunting perpetrator; disquieting its own sanctuary. Some vague impression of that orange flame comforts you, lets you know nothing is wrong. You feel somehow able to let go, as though this exhilarating orb is your newest haven. Still a kind of fear cripples the will to embrace the freedom – to drift toward the charming elation, the scintillating flight. In the inevitable dizziness you reach for some outstretched hand. No hand returns the passionate plea and your fingers recoil from the loneliness. A burst of inverted pleasure electrifies the isolated tips of those reaching fingers and from it a new unexpected etiquette of the imagination emerges. What you are experiencing does not plead for eager subscription, enforced surrender. The yield must manifest entirely from you, rerouting the purpose of everything. Your soul weighs on you like a mysterious mountain. You gasp pathetically – a sort of weariness consuming your will. You have the urge to rise and leave without moving. Inaction confirms your truest desire – a seedless aspiration. You reach toward the embers of a dulled imagination for a secret hiding place, wishing some precious memory might guide you there. For this magnificent spiritual meander must end now. It brings with it a kind of exquisite misery, a tormenting gaiety that you adore and shun. Your prayers to those exuberant gods were for simple happiness. How must you receive this gift from them – a sign of their unrestrained manners pitching your heart against its ordinary rhythm? But you have been here before. It is no new story. Why now this blind struggle to navigate the path? Does your soul not possess the skill of mediation, lighting the path to your subconscious? Regard the garments you have retained for the return journey. Do these no longer fit - especially for the beguiling crossroads? Be fearless and elevate your heart, be engaged for the strongest tide, prepare for the sharpest turn; await those resplendent wings gliding toward you. The fastening will be swift. So take care to relearn the lost familiar routes and adorn your spirit to attain the heights of your divine ascension.