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Vessel: a tiny intermezzo memoir

Vessel: a tiny intermezzo memoir

Vessel:
a tiny intermezzo memoir

 

I am a vessel.
I hold things.
 
Carry them.
For use.
 
I have not always
seen this, this purpose,
to hold things,
ferry them.
 
Take them
from place, state,
one to another —
like the sweet
of a grape in
a barrel, a
bottle, for
a time.
 
I thought I
was the
thing.
 
As a ming vase
or holy grail
is.
 
Then, they are not
the things they’re
venerated to be.
 
They held things,
offered them,
like me.
 
Treasured things.
Like I hold.
Bring.
 
Bearable things
and perishable
things.
 
Like nature.
Like promise.
Fulfillment.
 
Hallowed
things.
 
Seminal and
pivotal things
like purpose
and capacity.
 
Noble things
like grace,
humanity;
 
golden eggs.
 
Practical things
like magic and mischief,
dream catchers,
found feathers.
 
Thorny things
like civilization,
identity.
 
Story.
 
Thoughts,
their thinking.
Mirrors casting
reflections.
Lenses.
 
Intrinsic things
like sovereignty.
Like gravity.
 
Fluid things.
Like love.
Its light.
 
Like mystery.
Like oceans, streams
and universes.
 
Reality.
 
Like seasons
and sorrows
and life and
lifetimes.
 
Like vastness
and space, essence
and spellbinding
dimensions.
 
Healing things.
Like forgiveness.
Kindness.
Joy.
 
Knotty things
like memory
and presence;
consciousness.
 
Like cities, colonies,
populations vast and
alien to my somatic
fathoming,
 
like union and
dissociation;
like value,
worth.
 
Granular things
like paradox and
perspective,
density and
domesticity.
 
Enigmatic things
like being and not
being, here and
not here, truth
and elliptical
pirouettes of
omission.
 
Portals and
escalators.
 
Labyrinths.
 
Breakable things
like bones and
teeth and
oaths.
 
I hold wealth
and greatness
I cannot count
nor begin to
qualify.
 
Even so, I wrestle
to see this vessel,
its flaws and fissures,
its plainness and wear,
its propensity to fragility,
as suitable to convey
such sublime
treasure —
 
though I endeavor
to adjust my eyes,
their dilations, to
higher beholding.
 
Peering through
the concrete walls
of incomprehension
to focus my envisioning
and see clearly what
is apparent, and
seeks to be.
 
Trusting the light
I cannot quite
apprehend in
the brume
of reason.
 
Piercing the
illusion of
containing.
 
For this
is one thing
I wish to keep
no longer walled within
me like a secret,
a ruin, or a
skeleton.
 
I hold
god.
 
Which
cannot
be held
 
only borne.
 
Singular in
how I was thrown
and glazed and fired
— in the particulars of
those things I carry,
and let go —
 
in my clay,
my core, I am
no different
than you.
 

∞/∞

Eve Moore ©2021
© 
Photo: Eve Moore

Eve Moore: Once a professional writer of advertising, I saw the light & it has shown me words of a different nature. And so I take them down & offer them up. And all is well. 

For more of Eve Moore's amazing and heart centered poetry and writings, click here! 
http://www.crystalwind.ca/eve-moore

“When the power of love overcomes the love of power, the world will know peace.”
—Jimi Hendrix

This poem/prose was submitted exclusively to CrystalWind.ca by Eve Moore.


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