I flogged myself with words today,
And wrung frustrated tears of time;
Each notion forging work from play
With armoured tales of mountains climbed,
And all the climbing still to do
To reach a summit dreamt in thought:
A landing sanctified as truth,
Made of all the snow I've caught.
From screen to screen, you grabbed my hand,
Pulled me up, then let me go
To fall and fall, though never land,
Through spaces self can never know.
(Still,)
We spoke of death and horror next,
And all the beauty in the dark,
While crafty fictions gently crept
To threaten bite with empty bark.
I bathed in choir, later on,
And sank in timeless harmony;
Those seeming mountains melted, gone
With dreams of striving earnestly.
Nightmares past may soon return,
But bring them, yearning, to the fold;
They'll shout to silence unconcerned,
And find no mind or hand to hold.
- H.R. Husbands
It's Harry Husbands. We spoke over a week ago following a particularly dramatic episode of seeking!
Since our chat, there is little desire to seek. Generally, I feel content. Hard to explain (or remember!) what's been happening but there is a peace with it all; a sense that even any residual desire to 'get' what can't be grasped is a part of some gorgeous, unfathomable flow of something. I can't express my gratitude to you enough (I can't express much of late, it seems). I would love to speak again some time, if you would like to? I wrote a poem following our conversation and wanted to send it on. I hope you enjoy it.
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