Vessel: a tiny intermezzo memoir

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Vessel: a tiny intermezzo memoir

Category: Eve Moore Friday, 19 February 2021 Views: 906

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: 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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ॐ Namasté - Blessings!
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