Placement
This is my insecurity. My thoughtless wonder. The wandering of my mind through catacombs filled with light, dust, and shadow. Of things illuminated by revelation and of things glinting in the yet hidden places. To put forth a face for others to see. To speak in a way in which to be understood. To behave in a way acceptable. To hide behind convention and correctness of action. These things I do not desire. Yet follow as if they were the only thing that could save me. Save me from I do not know what. I have not realized the reality of the situation yet. It beckons me closer to the harshest light therein. To the light that reveals all and hides nothing. To be seen in truth and to cringe in it. I have no place to hide there; it is to be ultimately vulnerable. I am there without knowing it. I have no true knowledge of it, yet believe it to exist. I have seen it work. Ripping, gouging, tearing, snapping violently at all I try to hide away and caress.
With the razing of these detriments, comes unutterable groaning and indescribable motion. My being has no way to express the movement of these actions and no way to resist. They render me powerless to run, too weak to fight, too guilty to apologize. The destruction is unbearable but must continue. It must always break down that which has been wrongly constructed. These base and low notions of now. They blind us to the radiance set before beckoning upward. The world shows tiny glimpses in rare and beautiful moments of what it is like. The unsullied and raw reality we desperately try to mask with ourselves. I am forced to witness the destruction. To understand it. To loathe it. To release it. To realize it. To appreciate it. To know that without destruction, nothing new will be built.
In the process of demolishing the falseness I have cherished, the light begins to penetrate places never known before. It begins to light a new path, which springs forth from the ruin of previous experience. It shoots off into the distance beyond what now will tell me. This new path tells little because I understand little. It only reveals what I can deal with. Even if I strain to see more, even if the straining births beads of perspiration upon my furrowed brow. If I strain, I lose the energy needed to proceed. To move along in the way I must go. Through painful ruin into all-encompassing compassion. In the light where I may be seen. Imperfect and frail as I am. Into vulnerability and at risk of rejection. This is the path I follow. Choice plays no role. It is the path to be followed. My only choice is how to bear it and with what face to wear. My own or the one that has been carefully constructed through trial and error.
The depression that the devastation rendered seems but mist compared to the breaking of the clouds ahead. Already the light begins to shower the shoots beneath my naked feet. I stride unclothed. Waiting to be named. For I know myself not. I am waiting to be born. To be renewed. To see what gifts have been bestowed and what wounds inflicted. To see how much I am…and am not. To share what has been given and to rest in others for what has been left out. This annihilation is resplendent beyond my own understanding or capacity for appreciation. It is the stunning loosening of falseness for the overwhelming sight of truth irreproachable. It is revealed in miniscule amounts. Amounts that still cause the mind to totter and reel from the implications and magnitude of its unveiling. I am unworthy and broken. Beautifully broken and ready. . .
This is my insecurity. My thoughtless wonder. The wandering of my mind through catacombs filled with light, dust, and shadow. Of things illuminated by revelation and of things glinting in the yet hidden places. To put forth a face for others to see. To speak in a way in which to be understood. To behave in a way acceptable. To hide behind convention and correctness of action. These things I do not desire. Yet follow as if they were the only thing that could save me. Save me from I do not know what. I have not realized the reality of the situation yet. It beckons me closer to the harshest light therein. To the light that reveals all and hides nothing. To be seen in truth and to cringe in it. I have no place to hide there; it is to be ultimately vulnerable. I am there without knowing it. I have no true knowledge of it, yet believe it to exist. I have seen it work. Ripping, gouging, tearing, snapping violently at all I try to hide away and caress.
With the razing of these detriments, comes unutterable groaning and indescribable motion. My being has no way to express the movement of these actions and no way to resist. They render me powerless to run, too weak to fight, too guilty to apologize. The destruction is unbearable but must continue. It must always break down that which has been wrongly constructed. These base and low notions of now. They blind us to the radiance set before beckoning upward. The world shows tiny glimpses in rare and beautiful moments of what it is like. The unsullied and raw reality we desperately try to mask with ourselves. I am forced to witness the destruction. To understand it. To loathe it. To release it. To realize it. To appreciate it. To know that without destruction, nothing new will be built.
In the process of demolishing the falseness I have cherished, the light begins to penetrate places never known before. It begins to light a new path, which springs forth from the ruin of previous experience. It shoots off into the distance beyond what now will tell me. This new path tells little because I understand little. It only reveals what I can deal with. Even if I strain to see more, even if the straining births beads of perspiration upon my furrowed brow. If I strain, I lose the energy needed to proceed. To move along in the way I must go. Through painful ruin into all-encompassing compassion. In the light where I may be seen. Imperfect and frail as I am. Into vulnerability and at risk of rejection. This is the path I follow. Choice plays no role. It is the path to be followed. My only choice is how to bear it and with what face to wear. My own or the one that has been carefully constructed through trial and error.
The depression that the devastation rendered seems but mist compared to the breaking of the clouds ahead. Already the light begins to shower the shoots beneath my naked feet. I stride unclothed. Waiting to be named. For I know myself not. I am waiting to be born. To be renewed. To see what gifts have been bestowed and what wounds inflicted. To see how much I am…and am not. To share what has been given and to rest in others for what has been left out. This annihilation is resplendent beyond my own understanding or capacity for appreciation. It is the stunning loosening of falseness for the overwhelming sight of truth irreproachable. It is revealed in miniscule amounts. Amounts that still cause the mind to totter and reel from the implications and magnitude of its unveiling. I am unworthy and broken. Beautifully broken and ready. . .
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