POEM: It Can Be Soft, Too
A poem about ancestral healing and the alchemy of turning towards the past to reclaim the future.
A reading…(some words slightly different)
Poem: It Can Be Soft, Too By Schuyler Brown November 2022 A voice said: Life is hard. And I believed it until it was. I made it into a mantra and a way of life That over the years, was making me smaller, not bigger. Voices whispered: Who is this guy? Suspicious of the healer who came to help; my life force stuck, the way unclear. He offered hope and freedom. They scoffed with doubt. A voice repeated over and over again: Your efforts are futile. Seeding self-defeat so I would never try to do the thing that might fail... but just might work. A desperate attempt to keep my feet on the ground; to keep me from flying. My pleasure and success felt like something I’d stolen-- or gotten away with. Something that would be taken from me at the first opportunity. Gratitude, blocked by fear that it might disappear, that the situation might be brief, that maybe, I am bad and don’t deserve relief. Even when I received plenty I couldn’t say thank you, not really. And it made me sad because I could see how much I had. Then one day, I asked: What is this voice? Who is speaking? It was quiet then as I realized: These voices are not mine. They were coming from beyond this life; ancient and dense with time, ancestral legacy whispered in my inner ear, tunes plucked on heart strings, written in genes, memories too hard to bear. A matter of actual survival. The ancestors spoke because they needed me to know. They needed me to feel their pain and frustration. They sent it as a teaching, a protection, even. They didn’t want me to fail; to fall into the same trap of hope and despair that colored their days and lives on earth. So I turned towards them. I took on their pain. I acknowledged the suffering. I sat with their stories and listened with my body. It wasn’t enough to understand. They needed me to feel what they could not. So… I cried. I wailed. I petitioned God for them: WHY? WHY? I called to the sky. I cried with my arms wrapped around trees. I lay on the ground like a baby, weeping. It was a lot of sensation. Then, I built an altar and made offerings. I said and meant it: “I hear you in your outrage. I know how hard it was.” Because now, I did. I said prayers to deities I couldn’t yet feel. I tried to find them through sheer will. I wrote. I sensed my way into something like... openness. I trusted. Sometimes, all I had was that trust. I believed in me. I believed that my light could reverse a family legacy: Poverty. None of this was hard. None of this was suffering. This was grief. This was healing. This was beautiful. I am the hope of my ancestors. I am the promise of restoration. In that prayer I found the other half of my inheritance: treasure chest of sparkling smiles, sweetness like a child’s, love of story, song, and words, a body made for dance and play, direct line to spirit, with a preacher’s elocution... This magic is real and we know how to use it. I must have been ready for this feast of plenty. Sweet nectar of continual flowing burst damns and ran through me. Now, I cannot stop the gratitude. It happens all the time. I thought this state of abundance might feel naive; instead it feels like a birthright. It feels…natural to pour forth into this world the praise I hold for the whole. This abundance is real. An antidote to the separation we feel, the medicine for our ancestor’s grief. We are here to hold their pain-- But, lightly so we can remember the whole story: Yes, life can be hard. But, it can be soft, too. As we bask in the infinite promise of finally belonging to the past, this present moment, and all that it holds for us and for our children. ~~
This is So Beautiful, So Sacred seemingly… Like a Sacred Expansion 😌! Thank You Schuyler ❤️ for bringing me along with your Sacred words 🙏
Perfect after such a great gathering in the Stoa meditation. Typically I’m European time but lucked out for this one. Thank you for this and yesterday Schuyler