It's Time
Ever since I was bit by the bug of Poetry I've vacillated, caught on a hook of ignorance which I've imagined was valuable. I would sit to write and in moments unaware a sweet scent of heavenly manna would fly through my pen and I'd cling to it as if my life depended on it. At other times dark waves of amber upset would stomp through which I'd push away as if I could thwart death. There it is, the cause of suffering -- ignorance, clinging, aversion.
The part of the process I learned to call "me" became segregated from half its resources, all the parts I didn't care for -- the fearful, the worried, the morbid, the skeptical. It's what the psychologists call "the Shadow." It's what I call "Serena Helriot". Not that she's bad and I'm good -- not by a long shot. She's the keeper of the magic, shining her light to expose the silver lining of the ridiculous. She is the one who believes in endless possibilities.
I tend to think little of myself.
Serena tends to forget herself altogether.
I lament and let fear stop my efforts.
Serena sings with laughter and rides fear like a wave to the shore.
My vision is muddied and narrow.
Serena's is far-reaching and clear.
I repeat the good ideas of others.
Serena seeks to give birth to her own.
I want validation and acceptance.
Serena just wants to be, to fly free in the skies of her imagination.
Where I seek to impress,
Serena seeks to explore,
to open to the Great Mystery, and
walk a path of Adventure for the sheer fun of it.
Serena Helriot is a space in which I've longed to enter. The only thing keeping me out is me. This is the season for union and wholeness. The season of permission to accept the long-held invitation. The season where I seek to accept it all, to allow the meshing and mixing of light and dark to settle into balance where hopefully I can strike my match, spark a flame, and watch the ensuing fire burn baby burn. And maybe my efforts can meld with your own. Maybe I can encourage you to be your own Serena Helriot.