THE NEED TO KNOW

Missive #27 - Transcribed Poetic Dictation

[The spirit of loss is loud right now. We are sitting with mourning and with celebrating, especially as we enter into the coming days. Can we hold the complexity of simultaneity? There is no real order to feeling things. We feel it all at once. And so I am happy, and sad, and angry, and grieving, and mourning, and ecstatic, and down, and afraid, and motivated, and disgusted, and content, and calm, and indignant, and righteous, and neutral, and furious, and in bliss. It is much easier to suppress parts of this feeling, to prioritize some feelings over others. It is a whirlwind to feel everything at once. Why must we feel it all? Why indeed…
This missive arrived in the stillness of a near-winter rain, when just-above-freezing feels warm, and when cold winds become welcome. The seasons are circles. The horizon around us is a circle. The course of day and night is a circle. We are compounding circles, circling in on each other. Open your circle a bit, to let the cold wind in.] Received 11/22/2023 | ~6pm

Listen to the Recitation:

THE NEED TO KNOW
Ledge tipping over into infinity;
Explanation why is the fastest route
To hell, a hell of our own, a home
Hastened towards the asking of
Why, why, why. Why God, why!
…Why ask why? Release yourself
From the attachment to a reason
Behind what happened; enter into
Acceptance of what happened. This
Does not condemn, nor condone
What happened. It acknowledges
The fullness of our experience to be
What we experienced, and nothing less.
It allows our experience to move
Into what we are presently experiencing
And away from what was experienced.
Right now, there is a great spirit of Loss
Abound in the collective. Unacknowledged
Loss festers and fouls in the depths
Of our inability to open ourselves to what
Could occur were we open to it occurring
To us, to the land we stand upon. A land
Burdened with so much loss we could
Not even begin to bear it all, let alone
Know why, or how it could have come to
Dwell therein. At some point, the what and
The why become places of perpetual torment
And agony, projected and wielded with
Terrible recklessness, abandonment an
Ornament to our futile flailing, tears flying
Dry riverbeds with oilslick residue, iron
Oxide leaving red crusted rocks to shimmer
Like satin, like silk in the glaring hot sun.
We can release why without compromising
THAT. That which lives there, and here, all
Around us is within us. Mourn and grieve
What is unspeakable. Feel the whole of it.
Return it to the gods of the land, of the waters
Who have held it for far too long, waiting
For us to re-cognize that and de-cognize why.

Are you listening? Do you hear it?
The land weeps with us.
If you are not weeping yet, you are invited.
This is a heavy time. Our joy does not make it
Any lighter. Joy makes it easier. Joy
Is the road which makes grief possible, the hand
At our side, open, bruised and bloody and
Calloused, and warm, forgiving, receiving.
Step away from the ledge of your need to know;
There is only one place it goes. Is there more
There you wish to find? I share in this addiction.

We are hearing the Call to come back now,
To the flatlands of now, into the holographic
Landscape which lies on the other side of loss.
Let the loss lead you. Loss and Anger lead us
To one place when suppressed, and another when
Allowed. Keep feeling it. Keep sharing it.
The cycle is a spiral. Keep following it in.
I promise you, the place we all want to go is
There. The true holy land, which is not bought
By fire and blood. That, too, is the true holy land,
Of yesterday. We still have time to define
This Holy Land of today and tomorrow.

Sometimes an agitation is needed
To let loose the cries hidden inside
This gruesome burrow, entrance buried
Beneath heavier and heavier stones.
And those too buried under sand and silt,
Salt encrusted, dried to the bone, swept
With winds and worries. The crystal glows beneath
The rubble. Hands pull the rocks away
Until the whole of what has been hidden
Is revealed; and the whole of what was lost
Is felt; and the whole of what was pushed down
Is out in the open, tenderized and alive
And free. At last, free. Everyone and everything
Free.

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“Do you hear it?” Milarepa Thangka, Artist Unknown