Does it predate my birth
A lingering laceration of the spirit
That haunts my spirit
Festering from generations of neglect.
Is this my father’s wound?
Is this his father’s wound?
Is this wound older even still,
Passed through DNA of each generations’s soul?
Have I passed this wound to my own son
Too late already to save him the pain of
This ancestral puncture?
Where do I find the injury inside me?
Once found, Can I debried this necrosis?
Can the generations of scar tissue
be cut away to allow exposure and healing?
Is there a hand able to reach into this deepest part
To apply the healing balm I need?
Is this just a game of blame?
Seeking answers in generations passed
Rather than admitting the wound
This wound is self inflicted?
Am I the aggressor against my own soul?
Did a younger me wield the violence of this stabbing
In wishing to severe the umbilical cord
Did I slash so violently
That my the knife plunged
into my own body?
Is all this metaphor just too much?
Is this wound that haunts me
Just beyond my reach
The spiritual lingering of my
Body being cut into by a surgeons scalpel
At the tiny age of six weeks?
Years before I could understand
This assault was necessary for living?
Am I still that unweaned boy?
Feeling an incision
I can in no way understand or grasp?
Even still the question of how to heal this
Lingers in my mind?
This infancy wound passed physically
Also to my son.
I speak now into that shadow place
Where I know my wound,
my father’s, and my son’s all dwell
“I am coming! I have found no healers.
So I will be the healer.”
“I am coming! I have no found no shamans
So I will be the shaman”
“I am coming. I have found no balm
So I will seek the parts and brew it myself.”
As John Bacchus said
“If you are not failing regularly
You are not being creative enough”
I know there will be failure
But failure is the force which propels
To newer more creative approaches
Failure is the darkness which
Forces a man to learn what spark
will ignite a fire that lights that night.
Failures from my past
And the failures of my future
Will fail themselves
To prevent this promise of healing.
This wound, the haunt of generations
Will find it’s dark corner illuminated
Will feel it’s scar tissue removed
Will watch an antiseptic applied
Will recognize the balm’s protective coating
Will sense the wrap of the bandage
Will begin healing finally.
Be waiting old soul
Your sanctuary approaches!
So I will be the healer.”
“I am coming! I have no found no shamans
So I will be the shaman”
“I am coming. I have found no balm
So I will seek the parts and brew it myself.”
As John Bacchus said
“If you are not failing regularly
You are not being creative enough”
I know there will be failure
But failure is the force which propels
To newer more creative approaches
Failure is the darkness which
Forces a man to learn what spark
will ignite a fire that lights that night.
Failures from my past
And the failures of my future
Will fail themselves
To prevent this promise of healing.
This wound, the haunt of generations
Will find it’s dark corner illuminated
Will feel it’s scar tissue removed
Will watch an antiseptic applied
Will recognize the balm’s protective coating
Will sense the wrap of the bandage
Will begin healing finally.
Be waiting old soul
Your sanctuary approaches!
——
Sometimes I write something while journaling and know I want to play with it turn it into poetry. There was something about this that resisted that idea. I wanted to preserve it in the stream of consciousness form that birthed it.
