(Blake’s “Glad Day”)
“Narcotics cannot still the Tooth/That nibbles at the soul–”–Emily Dickinson
And often one just works hard and long, endlessly giving, doing for others, sacrificing one’s own inner self, giving many performances (many of them hollow, ephemeral) giving, turning oneself inside out for others, hopefully, to see.
And do you ever feel that the long mysterious restlessness inside will never lift and that you will never fully connect with or be very close with anyone else in your ticking life– that you will never truly be fully known and loved for who/what you are, or fully known and loved by someone else?
The palpable ache remains–a restlessness, hunger, thirst, and deep desire so total it makes itself felt on all levels–mind, body, heart, soul, spirit.
And only occasionally the mind may dare to ask: What’s in it for me? What’s it all for? What is my true meaning and purpose that will leave me with no sense of anything vitally missing? Will I ever get back anything half-resembling what I give out and have selflessly offered others, society, and the world?
And one day, if we are lucky, the clouds may part and we shall meet someone remarkable and truly special. And they will begin to know us as we begin to know them- the essential informations shared and turning darkness into light. Like Molly Bloom, we will simply say “Yes” to someone else, their presence, and unlimited love for us and our presence.
And so we’ll respond in kind, finally trusting, letting go, believing in something and someone other than just ourselves, as we heed The Call that will not likely come again.
And all and everything shall open up, and the two shall be both truly free–deeply, significantly, and mutually changed forever.
To be that lucky, to take the chance, to find out what it means to live totally in and for someone else and to feel them doing likewise within us.
To feel the sad, old, depleted, exhausted self magically washed away forever.
To live life, floating in love on the highest, maximally free-est, most glorious heights.
To feel rapturously alive again, and strangely, wonderfully reborn like the child in Wordsworth’s famous “Ode: Intimations on Immortality”.
(previously published Jan. 3/13)