Guts

By: belasbrightideas

Apr 11 2017

Tags: , , ,

Category: happiness, lifestyle, musings, philosophy, relationships, Uncategorized

17 Comments

Aperture:f/8
Focal Length:4.497mm
ISO:80
Shutter:1/500 sec
Camera:Canon PowerShot SX50 HS

Is it familiar, the aching sentiment
when what seemed known becomes
assumption and once again melts
down, dilutes into watercolor illusion,
deceiving like a dramatic heist
of the pureness of Being;

All feels just until it ceases to be,
no more mistaking favor
for authentic regard
when we find ourselves ducking
into corners to avoid a situation,
as if fate could be averted this way
or that, only not today, we say,
not now, I cannot face it
in this moment;

We do not plan chance, it handles us
until we can no longer hide from who
or what we have revealed ourselves to be
aside from the ego’s estimation;
rightness or wrong of it matters not,
paste-up face turned to a world wrapped
in artifice does not sustain deep down
when we fail to confront the depth
of our own lack of congruity;

It is a gift, this, even though at the time
we feel cursed, abandoned by
the very source to whom we pray,
Please set me free from this dark wheel
of suffering, yet only we facilitate
re-cognition of our own innate liberation,
encountering what chance tosses daily
into a path provisioned by partnering
up in equal measure, shadow and light.

17 comments on “Guts”

  1. “We do not plan chance ..” That really speaks to me. Very moving.

  2. Oh yes Bela…very familiar sentiment! Even ducking doesn’t save the situation…certain outcomes can’t be controlled despite our best efforts. Probably that’s why age-old wisdom calls it destiny.
    This poem hides profound pain within its entrails; it may emerge out a thousand times but remains immeasurable, unrelenting and invincible. We have to learn to live with it, forgetting we are related to it. Well articulated! Thanks for sharing. Love and hugs dear friend.

    • Aloha, Balroop! Thanks as always for your kind, wise words. This poem was actually written for someone else, but don’t we all know this from some time and point in our lives? It’s sad when, past a certain point in life, some simply can’t get past perceiving themselves the victim. Everybody is culpable, we all must confront choices and consequences. Hiding from our karma only ensures it will come around, again and again, until we accept the learning. Meanwhile, we suffer.
      Many blessings to you, dear one. ❤

  3. “It is a gift, this, even though at the time
    we feel cursed, abandoned by
    the very source to whom we pray…” Very true. Days, weeks, months, and maybe years later we discover the reason for a change over which we had no control. Then discover one day we are in a better, happier, place. ☺️

  4. THE CHOICE

    The choice
    The question
    Is not “Yes or no”
    But “Now or later”

  5. yesterday, i popped in on someone struggling with depression with easter wishes and within a little group off to the side, i heard the phrase, ‘praise the Lord’. for some reason, driving home i had to figure out how *i* would word that sentiment and it came out, ‘facilitate the One’. and here i re-cognise yet another facet of this, echoing away…’we facilitate re-cognition of our own innate liberation, encountering what chance tosses daily into a path provisioned by partnering up in equal measure, shadow and light.’ yep! so, thank you for that. 🙂 wishing you both regeneration and rebirth along your path where ever you may summon it.

    • Facilitate The One. For surely all else is illusion. Glad you enjoyed the wordplay, weaver. Thanks for sharing your story. Much love to you in your own rebirth and regeneration – happy Spring! 😀

  6. I found this work quite challenging, dear Bela, and am not quite sure what perspective it came from, I must confess. Maybe that was because I just spent a day with someone who was out-of-the-blue diagnosed with a terminal condition and given only a few months to live — “if fate could be averted this way or that, only not today, we say, not now, I cannot face it in this moment.” Strange how life can appear frighteningly real when its end (one’s own end) looms just around the next corner. Thought this line was very strong: “dilutes into watercolor illusion” — evoked a palpable sense of receding certainty. Lots of love, Hariod.

    • Aloha dear one: I had actually begun an email to you, concerned that I hadn’t seen your comments in all the familiar places … when something told me you were still with us, as it were. Now here you are. Sort of.

      Even I, who claim I am rarely afraid of anything – dark alleys, monsters under the bed, my own inner turmoil – find myself shivering these days when thinking of The End. Because really, who knows? I think we’d all like to be prepared for the journey – who leaves home on a long trip without suitcase packed and an intinerary – but in this case – the longest journey of all – nada. And part of me looks forward to that new adventure, but part of me loves these eyes that feast upon nature’s wonders; these senses that shiver with pleasure at touch; these ears that hear the bleating of spring lambs in the adjacent field, the songs and chatter of birds taking turns at the bath.
      This poem was written with someone else in mind, an encounter of sorts, but I think it’s universal and thus I shared it here. I’m so sorry you of all people were rendered even more raw by its content. I’m so sorry about your friend, and I mean that sincerely. I lost a dear friend within the past couple of years, and now what? Who can I share that kind of deep, instant, good girlfriend rapport with just a few moments away from home? One needs this sort of dear companion … and now, what? And so we go on, our own end more clearly in view, vivid and stark.
      It is at such times that we wonder what footing we have in whatever teachings we have embraced up to that point.
      Sending you comfort, deep empathy and compassion for the road ahead. I hope one day we will meet there, in that watercolor world beyond the veils of illusion. Love, Bela

      • I of course remember your quite recent loss (18 months or so?), and the very strong work that ensued and which you published here, as a result. My current situation is quite different insofar as the person concerned is not a close friend, but a former brother-in-law who I’d not seen for some 20 odd years. It just so happened that we were thrown together by circumstance on the day he received his news (I was 100 miles from home at the time), and ended up spending the whole of the afternoon and evening together due to us tapping into one another, and finding what was it seemed (by his account) the perfect shared mental space for him right then. I had the strong sense that over the hours we were together he kept oscillating between the shocking reality of his news, and our mutual forays into past shared memories which were as if an escape for him, however fleeting.

        How amazing the mind is to be able do this, to run along with memory and trivial anecdote, only the next moment to come back to, “Oh yes, I forgot, I’ve just been told I’m about to die.” — that was what I meant when mentioning things appearing “frighteningly real” (to him). It was quite something to witness, and actually to be a part of, that sudden collapsing of his into a shocking reality. I found it tiring after the event, and away from him shed a few tears of sadness over what he was facing. He lives alone, and will wake up each and every morning with the realisation that he’s about to die. The thing he’s so concerned about is not seeing his grandchildren, and that very soon being so.

        I’ve no idea how I’d react to such news, Bela, and whether I would always feel I could “face it in this moment”, to use your words. I think this might be the point at which our philosophising breaks down, or no longer serves a purpose; it’s when reality (wouldn’t normally use that generally unhelpful word) pins us down and says, “Say what you will, feel what you will, it makes no difference to the death that disinterestedly awaits you.” Right now, there’s a strong sense of freedom felt in my own insignificance, my own loving but ultimately empty-of-essence state. But that too is an appearance in consciousness, just like any fear of death is, and to that extent then I may as well disregard it.

        H ❤

  7. Good point, Hariod, ‘an appearance in consciousness’ understood. I wonder if you would be inclined to write on your own blog about your experience sitting with this man in such an extremely vulnerable place. What a gift you gave him, what grace. And the ensuing emotion and reflections of your own. These are surely opportunities for the witness as well.

    “How amazing the mind is to be able do this, to run along with memory and trivial anecdote, only the next moment to come back to, ‘Oh yes, I forgot, I’ve just been told I’m about to die.'” If we could only live with death in our sights every single day. I do try, but there’s a point at which it does seem maudlin and out into the day go I.

    Of course in the end, only we, ourselves can take that journey to the great Beyond. But we have been so accustomed all our lives to others, even if we are loners. We know there’s a familar world outside our gates. The utter solitariness of one’s impending death can only be experienced, I suppose, by that person. The upside to your friend’s diagnosis would be that he does have time to prepare in whatever way seems necessary. And I hope he recovers from the shock sooner than later, in order to clear out as much confusion as he’s able. No accident, your meeting up like that. I maintain it was amazing grace. ❤


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