September, Dissents
I step on the train, muted. Life an intrusion of chopped basil. One you want
to be like oh hi family this was supposed to be kept from you.
Remember the images of the droughts, a childhood developed by default.
They both carried guns,she said,in the silvergrass behind the subdivision.
Hear them take down the length of the moon made of immunity.
The question of how we live after death is not a new one
This poem was written by my daughter, poet Brooke Ellsworth. It was published by Octopus Books as part of an anthology of her poems entitled Serenade in 2017.
I lead off with Brooke’s poem September, Dissents to focus on her last line. The question of how we live after death is not a new one. If you are more than a casual reader of my monthly reflections, you know that I have been attempting to share my “self awareness” journey of my ego, my soul, and my spirit. Any one who has lived with, worked with, or walked a day with me has easily met my ego. My soul and spirit self, well that is another matter.
My ego has told me, more often than not, we don’t live at all after death. Hm-mm, my soul whispers differently as does my spirit. Before you can meet my soul, I needed to get to know my “soul self”better. After 70 years of life you would think I knew myself. But something has intimidated me and distracted me from the meditative door to myself, my ego. Ego and I have wallowed in my jealousies, my judgements, my fears, my hates, my angers, and my ______(s). (You fill in the blank.)
My “ego self” was a daily weapon that triggered death to my daily happiness. It could also block the door to love, peace, joy, and beauty. Some days ego could even block out light of understanding.
Dramatic hyperbole? When I consider my fear of loss and the dramas I created to pattern those fears to finally get my own attention, I think not. First primal fear for me was my ability (or inability) to fit into my so called societies; family, schools, work, career, marriages, yes and even the society of parenthood.
Question: Would I even know my soul if I “bumped” into it? Better question:
Would my ego ever open that door and introduce me to my soul?
The great late African- American poet Langston Hughes memorializes someone who not only met her soul, but loved her soul and was committed to her daily life with her soul.
Helen Keller
She,
In the dark
Found light
Brighter than many see.
She,
Within herself,
Found loveliness,
Through the soul’s own mastery
And now the world receives
From her dower:
The message of strength
Of inner power.
Do I need to be blind to calm my ego and see my soul? Of course not, but I do need to blind my ego to the primal fear of loss.
I end with another poem from Langston Hughes that touched my heart.
Tower
Death is a tower
To which the soul ascends
To spend a meditative hour
That never ends.
Does the meditative hour ever end? I believe death is part of life! Life is not a part of death. Therefor death ends and life begins-again. So as I lean against my reflective lighthouse this month, I begin to open my soul’s door and find my spirit is living in that room too. What is the key to that door?-“Unconditional love”!
I’ll believe it when I see it! No, I will see it when I believe it!
Thank you for reading.