The card is about Barry and me standing on the verge of a new adventure (which moving to the east bay will certainly be). And Hecate has handed me one of her torches.
Today, I began work on another poem, one about holding this torch. I'm starting to feel like a disciple of William Stafford. If you don't know the story, Stafford was in the habit of writing a poem each morning. When a student asked him how he could do such a thing when it took the student weeks or longer to craft a single poem, Stafford is reputed to have replied, "Lower your standards." Yes. Well. I seem to be putting out these unpolished poems here.
Yesterday, blogger refused to accept the spacings in my poem. It only allowed a single stanza. We'll see if it's in a better mood today.
Holding the Torch
Demeter carried
a torch in each hand,
searching for Persephone.
Hecate held two as well.
Now she has handed one to me.
It is a gift,
a blessing.
It also obliges me
to light my own way.
But wasn’t that ever
the case?
Oh, I have had teachers, guides,
a guru or two whose sway
I barely evaded.
But the road has always been
spiraling, weaving, circuitous -
a route forged
without a map.
Was it serendipity?
Perhaps.
Or maybe I was
guided by an unseen and
unacknowledged hand.
Well, in any case,
now I have a torch.
This means no more excuses.
I am walking
the slow road of aging.
What I have learned
I must now demonstrate.
What I have planted
I must now harvest.
In the light of the torch,
all flaws are revealed,
all scars are visible.
No matter how
they were attained –
bestowed by parents, errors
or happenstance –
None of that signifies now.
To lift the torch
I must raise my arm.
It is a posture of praise,
and an affirmation of merit.
Hecate gave this light to me.
I hope to use it well.
Sometimes when your arm tires,
ReplyDeleteYou may sit awhile and rest;
The torch will continue to burn,
but it will not burn you.
Someatimes you do not have to
do anything. The light you have
shared shines brightly
while you rest. Leona