Dad’s Deep Dark Secret ~I~

September 26, 2021

I have containers 
where I collect things
from my unconcious

I have times
purposeful, intentional times,
where I am mindful, present, and aware
where I intentionally settle in
(especially after feeling the pull or the knock or the lock)
and enter into my quiet sacred space
shut the door
set up boundaries
breathe and pray
and let whetever comes

(I used to call these “quiet times”)

and when I let go
and abide in The Vine
I find my inner Self
and I let it express
whatever is there

I say things
feel things
intuit things
create things
experience things
as if some one else
inside me were doing it
with me

and at first 
It felt weird
and wrong
and scary
because of my religious background

because of my background
as a former evangelical clergymen,
I battled shame and rejection untold
from family, friends, and confidants.
I met the very friends of Job
the dearest to him in his misery
whom found my expressions to be
satanist joo-joo
residual goo from
trickster demons
or ancestral curses
or ouija board nights
or deep unconfessed sin
or lack of awareness
or minor-league shit.
Home runs for Pharisees.

My Sheep
My Voice

And so
despite not finding the Masters people
I found the Master instead
as he was headed up the hill
the very one I’d made for myself.

and he said to me,
“Come join me, kid.
Learn to die
and become Man

My Great Teacher.

What do you do
with those kinds of
burts of expression
when they have no form
to express themselves in?

what do you do
when there’s no one you can tell?

And so, I become God
the very Imago Dei
and I create:

Let there be….earth. Corporeality.
Space, in the present, where being
may be held and honored

And so I separate the water
from the dry ground
and create boundaries;
now let them all come.

Burts of expression
intuitive conversations
unhindered interactions with myself
with a childlike adoption of mind
stories and images and meaning
automatic delivery of words
via mouth or pen or both

should they too not have a home?

In my fathers house,
there are many rooms.

Now the Builder; now the Preparer of Places.

I arrange space create dry land for them to exist.
and I deposit all of these bursts there,
place them and arrange them and preserve them
not concerned with immediate meaning,
for knowing it is important -somehow, someway-
for this to Be,
for sake of my Self,
is enough.

as important as air and water.
Even greater, perhaps.

I know this.

what I don’t know is
how to integrate it
quite yet


© Charlie Young, 2021.

[Art: Massachio’s Crucifiction of St. Peter,” 1423]

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