Listen Here- Podcast Style
Never tell a child you have a soul. Teach them you are a soul. You have a body.
George MacDonald
We grow up in a story. The winds of identity hit us like a gale. We grab onto anything we can to not be blown away. Leaning hard into her fury. The gusts shaking us with no warning of when and where they will come from. Our image weighs us down as we try to become its master. We get spun into the tangled web of a hoax staring back at us in a mirror of disguise. A grand delusion. We disappear into a story that is telling us.
We are everywhere and nowhere. We are everything and nothing. We last by not lasting. Our life here is a journey of transcendence in all of us. The years are a bridge and to cross them allows us to unfold into the deeper connection of all things. Foraging underneath the frayed edges of awareness our authentic story finds us. In a moment of naked truth our soul calls to us in remembrance of something that is already in us and of us. In the epiphanic liberty of surrender we appear. We rise into the scend of consciousness as the mystery comes to carry us home.
Scend -the push or surge created by a wave
The Scend
Who leads
in this dance of existence?
I have stumbled
into the spiral of the allegro
The perturbations of performance
causing me to grab onto
an identity
that slowly spun me
as I held on
in the docile guise of obligation
under the full weight
of the cloaked commotion
in my own disappearance
A deeper voice frantically yearning inside
calling me to sink into the soft hardness
as the urge penetrates the hunger
of a primal desire
to rise up
I let go
into the surging grip of the rhythmic waves
The scend
swiftly carrying me
into the unfolding surrender
Giving myself away
to the sweet minstrel of mystery
that fervidly moans
my name
© Jamie Millard
Scend is the root for transcendence.
Poetry was never about analyzing the poem for a correct meaning. Poets don’t write for that. Poetry is what poetry does to us. Every poem will affect us all differently. Poetry invites us in and draws from us. A poem breathes out and we breathe it in. Poetry is an invitation to enter into our own experience. Reading a poem out load is medicine for the soul. It is an Exploration in Cuoreosity.
What feelings, insights, and words found you after entering, reading and reciting this poem?
Which lines caught your attention and stood out to you?
I’d love to hear from you!
An imperfect podcast style audio version has been shared just below the title at the top of this post. Please listen along if you’d like to.
Thank you for being here,
Jamie
I have wandered this morning, first to Sadhbh's fresh writing after St Patrick's Day, and then to your and her collaboration back in January. Goodness, Shakespeare and all ... and 'the food of love'. Smile.
There is also food for thought. I listened yesterday but have not finished listening yet to a long conversation (1) recommended by a friend here in the UK. Reference was made to adaptive responses in our distressed culture ... responses very much of the kind supported by ventures such as Sadhbh's and your own. Before I came to this morning's writing a term had already floated into my mind: 'drown-proofing', err ... 'breathing'. Of the conversationalist thinkers. Iain McGilchrist is a devotee of artists and that mode of reality, which is necessary if we are to reach home.
1. Iain McGilchrist, John Vervaeke, & Daniel Schmachtenberger in conversation. Iain has a strong connection these days with Martin Shaw the storyteller.
»We rise into the scend of consciousness!« Wonderful❣️
This is such a moving poem ~ dancing, stumbling, spiralling, spinning, sinking, and then rising, surging with the scend... I'm still catching my breath ~ very heartful writing 💕🙏