By SE Coulson
To forget …
To make sense of the unthinkable,
To cultivate the garden with the richness of experience,
watered by the tears of sorrow.
What it is to live fully, to care deeply?
To run towards the blinding sun of joy and know the scars of its heat.
There is no explanation.
No feasible solution to the problem of embracing all of life.
We will drink our fill of loss,
and still nothing can erase the tightly woven threads that will forever illuminate us.
No matter how great our fear,
how daunting our task,
or searing the pain.
We are ultimately tempered by that glowing substance;
we retain tiny particles of its energy living wildly inside us
causing moments of fission threatening to scatter our parts
to the uncompassionate wind like a primordial Big Bang.
At other times the grand process of fusion is happening
inside us, around us
as living conspires to wind a glinting thread
that could only be the gold of her hair, the gleam of her smiling eyes,
or the song of her touch.
Around our bruised spirit it swirls
surrounding us like a warm haze of most cherished moments
now fleeting – now revised.