The Lessons of Psyche 1

 

 

 

Expecting—

 

I was expecting, constantly expecting,

anguished in my expecting;

and yet, I didn't know what to expect.

 

                              *

 

At one time, Psyche, I was still expecting You,

but however steady the gaze I levelled,

                                          I could not find You.

I took wing, and over the land began searching,

believing, believing You were coming,

believing...

 

I could not find You.

 

Were You coming, Psyche? were You coming?

I believed You were coming, I believed...

And yet, I didn't know You, I didn't know what

                                                              to expect...

 

Only now I hear the answer:

        Poet, in a thousand ways you saw me coming,

        in a thousand ways you heard the Melody heralding,

        but I was yet too distant from you.

        A yearning that distance was,

        opening the space through which you journeyed,

        you coming toward me

        as much as I came toward you—

        Didn't the Muse indicate the way

 

                                              so many years ago

 

        her discourses sung on crisis and pain?

 

 

Yes, I remember, how abandoned to the world I was!

Has anyone suffered abandonment to the world

                                                        more than I?

Anyone naked before the world more than I?

Nothing in the world was I, nothing,

but a falcon soaring...

 

        But you found the Opening,

        you were attuned for my revelation

        by your suffering.

        On the invisible path,

        waiting, being open, and listening,

        all the while you were searching,

        you were beginning to learn the Art.

        Even then

                        this was the practice

 

        Passion: to suffer

 

                                  Golden Light

 

                                                         into Thread

 

 

Psyche, even now the Thread You teach—

Each moment, such memory work is done,

repetition of the Golden, spinning and weaving

                                                             its way,

guided by Your revelation...

 

        I am teaching you to spin the Thread

        of what is entering the world.

        For I am entering the world.

        I am entering the fabric

 

 

(And now I remember and remark

  that Psyche had finally revealed Herself.

  A Vision, She came to me.)

 

And She said,

        Such is the Advent of Divinity.

        But a poet must also remain obedient,

        each word ringing with Melody,

        with each order of rhyme

 

                                             revealed

 

(And so I realize—suddenly, as I write, but once again—

  that I had been abandoned to the world,

  my tongue "more flame than flesh,"

  for a purpose.)

 

I close my eyes.

I remember,

Psyche, Psyche, Psyche, isn't my life for the sake of You?

Once again I realize the fatefulness

all suffering is

 

And Psyche said,

        Another order of rhyme

 

                                          revealed

 

 

 

 

 

1983