Be still, in the hostile landscape, be still,
find provision, refuse the fear.
Firmly self-sufficient, valuing your
success measured by fulfilment of God’s commands
and the sweet exchange of eternal experiences.
Is there anything to regret? No,
there is only what must be given up
– self-pity – the grotesque body
that grew beside your own, grew because
of your suffering, a deformity that
grew to help you carry the weight of that suffering,
a deformity that held a place for your secret pride.
But now, unbound, you must mercy-kill it,
release and dissolve its surface layers and under-layers.
It is always in a state of perpetual decay, supporting.
Release the poltergeist apparition,
re-distribute your cells, align
without its sickly features haunting and its whisperings
that lead to madness, whispering
“This suffering is yours. How amazing you are to carry it!”
and “No one will love you if you don’t carry it.”
Be loved in your joy and crazy impulses,
your sinews riveting creative overflow.
Be bouncing, impossible, wrenched from its illusion,
off your leash, off your rocker.
Discover dignity under the high trees,
by the rapids, skipping stones,
stepping on the slippery rocks,
stepping closer to the thrashing contours,
closer yet to its elemental song.
© 2018 by Allison Grayhurst
First published in “BlogNostics” January 2019
You can listen to the poem by clicking below: