Revising the editor
Limits, rules, restrictions, guidelines, walls,
trigger my auto-response of
arising fierce Kali-spirit
that demands the shaking off
of the yoke burdening my shoulders,
spitting out the bit between my teeth,
severing the ball and chain cutting into my ankle,
and pulling the barbed wire from around my throat,
to run wildly into
the free dark woods of my intuition
Only to wander
Confused at the confusion that
my primal need for freedom
might cause the rest of the selves around
who earnestly want to understand
what I am trying to convey…
Beyond my defenses that protect where my heart
has been inscribed on the page
Is my yearning to connect deeply
using the instrument of my body/mind/ heart
and yours.
Truth must have some way
to the sacred water
that runs through us all
Slowly back stepping toward
my perceived prison
and now seeing
Walls were intricate bridges
Structure wanted not to contain
but to lend a skin of coherence.
Rules were noble agreements,
lending a lantern
of Illuminated common language,
limits only the background upon
which to create the limitless forms.
Finally
I get it-
the edit.
January Handl
The revision gene must have synthesized with the wilderness gene. I get it too! Beautiful description of a profound but present dialectic.
BTW: I believe “wild”/”wilderness” originates from celtic/druid roots[?] and means willed, or self-willed and therefore free.
A significant insight, beautifully expressed. Sometimes, in writing as in life, the strictest constraints only serve to bring out our most creative impulses.
This work leaves me wordless. It feels like you are writing from the soul and a place moving from confusion to strength. Over the years I have noticed this in your poems again and again. Thank you for this poem.
I loved reading this out loud. Twice. I get it, too.
Thank you, Barbara- todays been tough, so your words lifted my spirits!