Tonight I dance in the blood of my soul that is broken open,
I wash myself clean with the tears I have cried for you,
I light a fire to pay respects to the hope I had in my heart,
I say a prayer to any power willing to listen to my cause
And I lay down in the silence of myself as I embrace the darkness of days to come.


Original Copy in Turmoil and Transformation
Saturday April 18, 2009

This, I believe is one of the first things I am posting with what I call the “wrapping” – I could be wrong about that. Most of the poems I write come to me in the middle of my writing in my journal or writing letters and many times they give background, insight, or explanation into the meaning of the poem. I think that sometimes things should be left to personal interpretation – but it can also be interesting if the real inspiration is revealed. So this poem was originally written and placed in a letter. I’m not sure if the letter was ever delivered, because I also sometimes write letters to get out what I want to say without actually coming out and saying it. It makes me feel better but does not make any unnecessary waves. So the “wrapping” for this small simple poem is as follows:

The first line was inspired by a Rumi quote…
Dance, when you’re broken open.
Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off.
Dance in the middle of the fighting.
Dance in your blood.
Dance, when you’re perfectly free.
— Jelaluddin Rumi (13th century)

The second line was inspired by the fact that I have this stream of tears that comes naturally when I think about my current heartache. I am continuously washing them away from my face and somehow that is a cleansing act.

The third line is a reference to my pyromaniac tendencies. At the end of our lunch I had to pick up the papers that we had just gone over together so they would not be left at the table. The fact that I had to pick them up after they were given and then not kept in possession was just another clear sign of how insignificant it all was to him. So I had those papers and also some literature copied and given to me from the recent counseling sessions. I wanted to make some sort of significant gesture with both these sets of documents and paper loves the flame, so I lit those fuckers up. Took them outside in the chill of the cold morning air and torched them. I watched them crimple and smoke and blacken and it was a very Shyla moment. Very primal and satisfying.

The fourth is a reference back to what I spoke of recently being my contract with the powers of the universe. I speak to them, some say in prayer, to make audible my current dilemma in hopes that the sound will bring clarity to me. It is too soon to tell about that one.

The last line, however, just came to me and was void of source. No apparent inspiration or exacting meaning other than it came from my heart and felt right when I included it. Then tonight, as I sat alone – really truly alone I felt that meaning come to me. It washed over my existence, ironically, like a ray of light. Once it was there, I had a new focus on the moment. With clarity I realize that I have gotten what I wanted and that was to be alone and that I am going to be alone for an indefinite amount of time. This desperate feeling is what I have been asking for and I must hold it close to me and use it and know that it is not going to get easier, only harder. I need to embrace it and allow myself to feel it. I need to “cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war”.
So that must be where that line from the poem came from. I wrote it before I even knew its true meaning. Now I know and now I have explained and in that am satisfied with this as the end of the day.

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