‘A garden inclosed is my sister, my spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.‘ Shir Hashirim – Song of Songs – Chapter 4 vs 12, Tanakh & Old Testament
The searing heat of love burns away imagined seals of self. Through the mist emerges truest self, freedom from treacherous bonds of consuming demons of doubt. Beauty rising from the poisonous steam of dross shed, accepting, powerful, graceful and alive.
Insistent the old man woke me, night upon night he shook me from dreams leaving dark taste in my mouth. He was death yet alive, power roared within him, fear closed my ears to him and my eyes could not see him. Yet last night his voice reached me, stirred me from fear, his face, not death but potent life. Like kindly father he offered rough hand, hand in hand with ancient Ash, I walked into the night. All earthly sound retreated as we walked, the stars lighting a path beneath feet. His words echoed through my being, lyrical cadence calling me to path, a song of memory to light my way. He spoke to my blood least I forget and in final speech he uttered; ‘Not alone my girl’ as he leveled his eye upon mine and laid kiss on my brow. A single sound approached, beneath his words, through my thoughts, he smiled when he saw I heard it; pounding like drum, yet too quiet for human ear, pulse of thunder compressed within form. My eyes widened as recognition arrived, words tumbling forth from mind, ‘his beating heart’, my wise father did smile returning me to dream, awoken.
This strange emotion that takes us by the throat, that we would renege our familial history, our rationality, our all to surrender to emotion so strong it empties us of all other belief, or truth and in the process potentially deliver us to an ultimate truth. I wish with my entire self that this were true but I am yet to see love provide the ‘ultimate truth’ in this. I see strong passion full of honeyed word but no solid proof. Does this kind of love exist solely in the mind of those who write of it? Including myself. I know what I long for but does it exist? That is the ‘million dollar’, for want of a better term or question. It seems redolent of illusion of need outside of the self… the ache for the the anam cara, the part of you that mirrors the soul formed of the same clay, the part of you that mirrors the soul formed of the same clay, the one that knows you and understands you; the ‘whom’ that will understand yourself, all the better to honour… that beautiful ideal that may or may not exist. Do we dishonour/honour ourselves seeking an ideal, potential, beyond grasp? It is delicious, enticing but maybe beyond who we are now… I sincerely hope not but know we all ask this question, we all carry this deep seeded ideal. Therefore, let us honour fully those with us now. Embrace them with the passion you would wish given to yourself, grant them the honesty you ache for and deliver the response you dearly hope for. Honour the one you love, now. Perhaps they fall short, but ask yourself honestly do you meet them? Let us see where the fragments of our love comets fall before we readily set them aside. Remember, you chose them and they chose you… why?
Fear not separation; do not allow the ‘sense’ of loneliness to terrify your soul. Know that darkness and light are never truly separate rather they circle one another, the darkest point of night is at the point right before dawn, the brightest light of the day is as the sun departs to make way for night. This is the time that the soul rejoices. You can never be alone if you are within yourself. When you can open your endlessly growing heart to love you will become a beacon calling your anam cara to you. Duality becomes singularity.
May you never be isolated; but may you always be in the gentle nest of belonging with your anam cara.
“I will bring you happy flowers from the mountain, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses, I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees.” Pablo Neruda