Illusion is our imagined separation from God


Illusion is our imagined separation from God



Bend down and savour

the shallow water,

stroking out praise like

the wind strokes the skin on a gentle day.


I was in the pit,

closed across the journey,

forming lines, lining up eagle eggs, pine cones

and leashes. Breaking though

irregular dreams that break the edges

and expand in an un-uniformed spill.

My love was lost when I footed the bridge.

My love fell over the rail like a stone.

Its sinking was mandatory as only heavy things can

make a storm or hiding places for surface-crawlers.

My love was my body – left side wracked with aching joints,

stealing the sunlight air, sleep and my swift directed walk.  

Goodbye old love that trembled in

survival’s ruthless prison pit, fed on dread and fireants –

skin stretched like a belly that bore countless stillborn babies.

Without choice in the pit, calling a block-square-of-sky heaven

and the starlings that would occasionally stop

to land and peer below.

All that love is gone, old, though because

once worthy and living, it is honored for its gifts.

The ground rises beneath me, the pit shortens

into a short-climb out. My limbs awaken and harness

the edges where direct light pours in.


The first thing to go will be my heritage,

from this life and lifetimes before –

bonds of steely anger, irredeemable deficiencies,

those bonds like throat chains that became like laws

that I pulled at, tried to cut or at least fray, now

I blow them away like down-fluff feathers.

How soft they have become,

their hardness swelled like shells breached

to reveal tender interiors.

I swallowed, and they are gone.


Love, I am learning a freer way of your expression,

entering a top layer, climbing.

I am almost out, on a flat plane, almost

I can see the treeline, the fullness

of a full skyline of sunrise on one side and sunset on the other,

surrounding plane in a circular scope.


I see dimensions pierced and I know

it has always been this way,

no pit, not ever, only this love,

now shed of illusion, away from its hell.

I can speak again, sing again, bathe upstream.


© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst


First published in “Academy of the Heart of Mind”, February 2018



You can listen to the poem by clicking below:



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