So Much Sorrow

Wraiths of the past thin 

like daylight fades to ephemeral mists, rising:

The dusty parchments of many lives 

like those moth-eaten tapestries

returning ashes to base elements.

These are the places in dream-time, wide-waking or dying 

 in many dimensions and states of consciousness

where lost souls wander and wonder, in reflection and regret

perceiving, picking over what was once omitted, committed, unseen.

The needy recognition and acid of shame to repatriate the component parts.

Not lost, but finding their way home.

In these realms,

the living bardo’s of today,

its the time and opportunity for clear recollection.

Not a penance or judgement:

but to encounter an existential fact, 

hitherto ignored or discounted;

in need of being sorted, put to rest.

The redemption in forgiving

is not a thing to do

but the natural consequence of

seeing and experiencing self

as others did or do

• our wider collective selves;

The seemingly impossible task of forgiving oneself - a final arrogance

in the travail of pure Comeuppance,

preceding a surrender to Grace.

Not a matter of blame, dear loves!

But the way that matter 

as well as the immaterial bit

recycles and processes itself,

in the indigenous need to know, evolve.

The story of infinite Love.

Oct