Empty: A Paradox

When I wrote this, I was not intending to write a sequel to the poem “Full” included in last week’s post. In fact, I was not intending to write anything at all. I was looking forward to a quiet evening of reading: immersing myself in Story, without having to contribute any more words to the world for a bit.

It was with great reluctance that I began to hearken to the soft, insistent knocking of the imminent poem rising up in my soul.

“Um, I’m here,” it said.
“Come back later,” I said.
“You need to write tonight,” it insisted.
“I don’t have anything to say,” I replied.

That’s when it poked its head ’round the door.

“Then perhaps you should take a moment and listen.”

So, I did. And I’m glad I did – for this is one of my favorite recent poems. It ministered deeply to me, and I hope it will to you also.

*Note: I have not forgotten about The Ancient! Formatting commences this week!!!*

Empty

Empty
But maybe now is the best time to
Speak
When I don’t really have anything to say
No pressing need, for I am not
Empty, but rather
Full
For the moment
Content – and pleasantly unconscious of
Longing.
Yes, now is the time to
Speak – or, rather, to be
Silent
For here is the trap
    the perilous bridge precariously stretched
         betwixt two points of safety
    masquerading as solid ground
    and calling me to linger:
         “Stop here, child: your reward
               for clambering on the heights
               is to rest here forever –
          And surely you are weary.”
And surely I am weary
 – but don’t call me Shirley
Nor am I your child
For you did not Name me
And the One who did, did not call me
    “Weary”.
Beloved is my name
    called across the oceans
    echoed from the heights
A name that bids me ascend those heights
          and plumb those depths
A name to grow into
A calling that requires pursuit –
For in its giving, I was
Pursued.
Rest, yes –
    but do not plant too early
    sending roots down through the broken bridge
         into empty air
              only to be swept away
                     by the first breath of Reality.
Kneel but a moment on the bridge
    – in celebration, in surrender –
And then continue to the next point of safety
    which, or course, is the next freefall
Caught and held and grasped
In the freedom of not grasping
    the strength of not holding
    the joy of not catching
         yourself
              every time you miss a step.
Another height, another depth
    – another bridge: pause, but do not
           tarry
Pressing through, into
Pressing need, into
Contentment, towards
The true safety – found only in
                risk
The true word – spoken only in
                silence
The true fullness, known only when I
                know
       that I am
                             empty.