I wrote this poem maybe a year ago. I was too scared to share it for fear that it may be horribly misunderstood or appear in bad taste or be deeply hurtful to someone who may have been a victim of some such thing.
It speaks only to the way I feel that I could so easily be ‘that person’. The question that arose in me at the time of this experience was this:
‘What if that bit of God had been born in this body? And what if this bit of God had been born in that body?’
In the moments when the illusion of separation is clearly felt, it is hard, if not impossible, to feel blame and judgement. Compassion arises freely and flows like a river.
They told me about the Paedophile
and how what he’d done was so very vile.
I agreed, of course, what a terrible thing
yet still in my heart I felt a sting.
So I made an excuse and fled to my room
where I made a space for the tears to bloom.
And bloom they did and grow and grow
until at last they began to slow.
What makes him, him and what makes me, me?
Aren’t we all the same stardust and eternity?
Don’t get me wrong, I denounce the act
but the compassion I feel is a natural fact
for the line that separates you and I
is nothing more than a long told lie.
There is but one and that one be we,
stardust, love, eternity.
Love and courage,