There was nothing for her at the cave,
in the dark, but she went anyway.
Rock opened like a wound.
Two white forms stood inside.
A third appeared at her back and called
her by name. Do not hold on to me.
Do not touch me. She cried out
and ran home to tell the story
again and again. Who would
believe her? She did not need touch.
Many men had come to her door and
some women. She had listened to all
their hands, rising in the dark like birds.
Now light spoke her name each day like
a spell. Voices flowed out of rock.
Words echoed in the cave of her body.
‘Witness’ is one of my favorite poems and it carries special meaning for me this Easter in particular.
As many of you know, I’ve been holing up in my own cave for the past three weeks, focusing on recovering from a painful neck injury. Last night, my friend, Darcy Simonson, suggested, “…the pain is there to tell you something. Rather than push it away (what you resist persists) try thoughtfully acknowledging the pain, ask it what it is here to tell you, listen, and thank it, which will result in releasing it.”
Since I was already getting intuitive insights of a similar nature, my bedtime prayer on the night before Easter was thus dedicated to thanking my pain and asking it to tell me whatever it is that I need to know about it. I found myself imagining my elder brother, Jesus, exploring prayers like this as his physical reality was threatened in the events leading up to the crucifixion and resurrection. I fell asleep with a sense of purpose.
This morning, Easter day, I woke up all scrunched and contorted around a couple of pillows and experiencing quite a bit of pain, as usual. With one foot still in dreamland, I was aware that only moments before I was very comfortable and happily engaged in a fantastic dream vacation with some of my favorite girlfriends. The message I heard, loud and clear, in my head was, “live large – have fun!”
I tossed the extra pillows to the floor and stretched out as much as I could in bed without waking my Sweetie. I felt myself becoming larger even as I stretched. Although I was stiff and uncomfortable, I became excited as I began forming a plan in my mind. I decided today I would create a self-portrait depicting me the way I want to feel, instead of the way I have been feeling, which is the same concrete form of visualization I often create for my clients.
Light speaks my name each day like a spell…
Live large. Have fun!
Today the Light shone on me brightly, warming my cranky joints and muscles. The sky was blue, the daffodils were in bloom and I felt grateful to be alive as I walked along the mighty Mississippi River in one of the loveliest areas the Twin Cities has to offer.
Tonight I’m enjoying writing for the first time in weeks. I wonder, what will the light tell me tomorrow? I am listening with renewed interest.
Do you hear the Light speak your name? What is He or She telling you? Have you thanked your pain today? Please share your wisdom in the comments below.
Happy National Poetry Month!