Straight to the Heart
There is no amount of suppression
that can equal the simple expedient
of desensitizing a fear
out of existence.
gallagher
13Aug14
— Copyright 1965-2014 by Dennis Gallagher —
Archive for the ‘Christchurch’ Category
2014-08-13 – Straight to the Heart
Wednesday, August 13th, 20142014-09-14 – The Silver Birch
Sunday, September 14th, 2014
Light and shadow ... moving time,
life here - bursting from inanimate matter.
A small pool or mirror, I.
Colette told me that the buds on her White Birch tree
were just coming out
when she went in to have her first child.
And that, when she returned some days later,
with a new life in her arms,
the buds had turned to flowers.
And every year since, she and this tree have communed
in the memory of that day.
Such stories run in the literature I've read
and through the memories in my mind.
Stories of people whose entire lives were written
within the seasons of the land they lived on.
Their lives rising and falling, rising and falling
through the eternal sunrises and sunsets
that swept across the fields they tended.
There were children born there
that played beneath those trees.
And they arose, lived and then became
just the memories
of those who live there now.
Now, amid the relentless turning
of these endless years.
Our faces are growing older
and fading in the mirrors now
as we witness all of this
again and again.
I grow more like a reflecting pool
and less like a believer
as I look at all of those I love in this life
transiting through this life
and I see them, and I see all of us,
as just passing through this place
like curtains in the wind.
Just living pools, reflecting ...
and mirrors of awareness, hoping ...
We are those, who realize,
only towards the end of at all, if at all,
that we are the transient ones
on this stage of mystery.
gallagher
14Sep2014
Christchurch
— Copyright 1965-2014 by Dennis Gallagher —
2014-10-01 – The Dispossessed
Monday, November 24th, 2014
I'm not sure why my heart is broken open.
Music, a book, thoughts of kindness,
all bring me to tears.
And I cannot tell
if they are tears of joy or pain.
But I fill, suddenly, with poignancy and pathos
until I overflow.
And I would not change it.
This long road I've come here
to see and to feel this life moving
inside and outside of me; all one.
I thought tonight that there may be
some door inside of me
that I can open by will to all of this
until it flows clear like a river through me.
Speaking feeling, feeling truth
becoming lost in the light
both creator and created as one movement
giving myself to what I've sought.
To be the recipient and the door, both.
To burn through this life
in the fiercest fire
consuming the very flesh
of my Beloved's existence.
gallagher
01 Oct 2014
Christchurch, New Zealand
- after reading Ursula Le Guin's, The Dispossessed
— Copyright 1965-2014 by Dennis Gallagher —