“Cracks,” a poem by Glenda Taylor

 

I.

Somehow, perhaps temporarily,
I have fallen into one
or another of the cracks
that can open in Wholeness itself,
fissures that split Being
into separate fragments called,
first one and then another–
soul, heart, body, mind,
ethereal, mental, mystical, sexual,
permitted, profane, forbidden,
past, present, future–so on and on.
Such subdividing has created the cracks
through which I have fallen
into Oblivion.

Rescue me
lest I lose forever
the Rapturous Wholeness
where we are One.

II.

Hawk, wild, I fly away from any tether
that would tie me to any particular, as
Deer, wild, breathing out forcefully loud warning,
I bolt at any approach too near,
Yet Child, wild, I cling to warm comfort;
Girl, wounded, I long for that perfect soul mated state,
even as Woman, mature, I lust, shamelessly, for Otherness, yet
Elder, wise, I consider coolly, while
Human, I yearn soulfully, and
Goddess-filled, I desire passionately, but
God-stated, I transcend calmly
That which is so ambiguous and multifaceted,
so elementally, eternally real,
and yet also yet uncreated.

Right now, having fallen through those
cracks in Wholeness itself,
I know not who I am.

Call my name
if you can.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image Credit:  Creative Spirit Hawk, John Hain, via Pixabay, CC0

2018-03-27T15:06:10+00:00

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