Sunday, November 01, 2009
The Imposter (poem)
The Impostor
When it's over, I want to say: all my life
I was a bride married to amazement.
Mary Oliver
I was the chaste spinster
married to my secret love--
what the world saw
was not what I was.
I kept my mask
carefully in place.
Spoke no disturbing word.
Made no unsettling gesture.
I went about,
humbly playing
the roles assigned,
the comfortable persona
that made them happy.
How could they know
what I knew,
feel what I had felt?
The midnight visitations,
the daylight trysts.
Even the trees
flaming skyward
in autumn,
the stars moving in
their crystal shells
against the dark cloak
of winter.
Music that pulsed in
the blood
keeping time with the heart.
None of these
was sayable.
What words could I
have used?
Dorothy Walters
November 1, 2009
(This poem is dedicated to all those who have had experiences which they felt at a deep level, but which they could not communicate to others, for one reason or another. Kundalini often becomes such a secret. Many of us feel quite lonely and isolated when Kundalini stirs within, for we dare not reveal to those about us what is going on with us, lest they turn away or fail to understand. Yet we know through intuition that this is a most important life experience, too precious to be refused, too intense to be ignored.)
(This beautiful picture is by Judy Ashford, a gifted photographer who lives in Ohio.)
