“Abundance”

From the Latin, abundare: to overflow;
antonym: lack.

I have never lacked the capacity to feel,
but to feel abundance itself,
to feel filled, to welcome
and accept my own lack—
this is rare.

True abundance includes lack;
the abundant one feels fully her deficiencies.
In her fullness, she does not repress her emptiness.
In her wholeness, she invites the pain of her imperfection
to be partner to her joy.

Spirit of Abundance, show me the heart so true to you
that it embraces its own lack and limitation,
the soul so full that it loves its own emptiness.

Grant me vision, Spirit of Abundance,
allow me to see you
when my nature sees lack, and lack only.
Show me the one who loves with you in her;
I will love her in her loving.
If I cannot love the seeming lack of perfect love within myself,
let me love her, the abundant one,
knowing she too experiences
the same lack that I do.

Grant me hearing, Spirit of Abundance,
let me listen for your music, music that erupts
like a fountain out of the body, overflowing
from the abundance of song in the soul.
Let the mad river of my heart stream out in dance
when I am overwhelmed by you, in me,
a dance of my emptiness and your fullness,
a rhythmic embrace of the whole.

Never am I closer to your abundance
than when I dance in time with my emptiness.

To find you there, at the center of that deep hole.
Even there.
You can hear the Trumpet of Escape beckon you,
you can feel the Iceberg of Loneliness sink you,
you can suffer as the Whale of Dread swallows you whole.
You can still know abundance in the midst of it all.
Somehow.
Don’t ask me how. I’m no expert here.

But somehow.
Somehow, beauty weaves through it all,
and beauty, in truth, is always abundant.
Beauty is the tremendous weaver,
and abundance the hand with which she weaves.

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“Where Are You In This Darkness”

Are you here in this darkness?
I don’t hear you.
You are silent, just like me,
but my silence knows no peace,
and in your silence, I hear,
I know, there is nothing else.

The peace of your silence
would shatter my nature.

Half-formed vestiges shatter;
I grow deaf in the silence after.
Shards are strewn on the ground,
my feet bleed from the glass.
I look down and see my nature
reflected in the fragments.
I do not see you there.

Where are you in this darkness?
I do not see you,
I do not hear you,
and I cannot touch you,
but I can speak you,
so soundlessly I murmur your name.