Beneath the masks, beneath the names,
beneath ideals, beneath the shoulds
is a thrumming, ecstatic atomic swirl,
unseen and omnipresent, inescapable
and holy—a divine blurring of being,
a realm of charge and energy—
most of it empty space. Sometimes,
I remember this. Perhaps walking
in the woods or standing in the midst
of a city’s whir, perhaps working in the kitchen
or singing in a choir, I remember
who we really are, remember
not with mind but with being,
and I’m lost in it, found in it,
alive in the cloud of it, astonished
with the sacred design of it,
elegant soup of it,
elemental swirl of it all.
How is it I sometimes
see only woman, man,
cottonwood, spider, self, other,
other, other, other?
We walk this journey
of separation together.
Oh, being who is lonely,
remember?
by Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer
I really appreciate Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer‘s naming of the glorious interconnectedness that I sometimes experience, alongside the heartaching loneliness and separateness that I also know well. And yes, isn’t it a curious thing that we can shift between the two? She has written another poem which feels related, it starts with ‘And if it’s true we are alone, we are alone together’…
It comforts me that the two are so close together, even on the days I can’t seem to make the shift out of the aloneness. It reminds me of a quote I read by Chogyam Trungpa in this book about contemplative photography, about how the difference between a good and a great photograph can be a tiny shift in angle. So it’s not about needing to go far for the brilliant picture, or to strive hard to somehow earn the belonging – it’s here already. And maybe, with practice, we can more and more become rooted in the one, while vividly remembering what it’s like to experience the other as a reality…
Picture by Fiona Dodd
