This is a poem of mine from a few years ago. Last week I journeyed into the unconscious again. The path of healing can be circular I suppose.
I have been the gatekeeper of the unconscious.
All that is dark, unknown, invisible, separated off…
I have allowed the structure of my own body to contain
this unruly domain.
I have watched language splinter into incoherence…
only to reassemble itself again,
into the weaving of a larger story,
So I have gone where many refuse to go.
I have inhabited inner terrain that is dark and wild,
perhaps to consciously understand
what could not be understood
that my body
beyond the narrative landscape
And is this not
how compassion is born?
In the understanding of all things