Alchemy of Dwelling and Vessel
A Poem by Amy Beauchamp
The bones of this place rattle in my ears, The echoing of bare walls, of parts breaking down, Signs of an ending were there for a while, most certainly, Against a backdrop of destruction and an epoch of change, One only had to string the broken pieces together like a weighted necklace.. which had the strength to squeeze the breath of life from it, leave it on, or take it off..the choice was mine, not mine For not my things, nor the years of family making and never-ending achievement could make for a true anchor of stability to build from, to uphold a consistency to stand on, Yet an anchor formed surprisingly in the depths of the abyss, within the place that could not be grasped by human hands… A light of knowing had revealed itself like a single grain placed in one’s palm and carried forth with such immense care, that surely had been witnessed by those of the timeless fate-making… This place I least expected, and also had heard whispers about in the rocks and trees, of written word and song.. cliché I thought, like a riddle in plain sight, had died on the vine of platitudes and empty sayings, This puzzle was it, yet in reading and pondering was not just words on a page, It was in deed to be done over and over at every step to be realized as it shaped itself miraculously into something tangible, not tangible Not the lines of love and of setting something free, no…this was more ancient, Such as the lines of wisdom carved naturally into rock since the beginning, or deep grooves into every hardened tree that endlessly ceases to stretch forth, for both light and shadow, This doing of was to strive for reinforcement at the place in the center which upheld all parts around it…not as a one-time effort, but like the rock and tree in its natural state before crossing the divide …and this is where the wisdom had hidden itself easily and unbeknownst to all – although the whispers still find their way, More as the many feathers placed one-by-one consistently without end, into the shape of this winged creature such as that with each step of choosing, of intent, of doing, gave it the strength of flight into new directions thought impossible…this anchor sight unseen. What was meant to be a crushing weight and hung around one’s neck, became the ascendant force at the back transcending and driving forth into a new form all together As it arched my back, I was at once over and over again pulled upwards to face the light and shadow in its rawness of state, This new form of flight holds reverence that my own bones as walls of manifest structure now rattle with as it echoes deep into my ears...this knowing, And however long the bend of time in the road swings this way and that where my own feet should walk, In deed had now shaped itself into a pierced wound healed over, not with perfect reformation, no…with imperfect reformation where the scarring made ever painfully visible in the aftermath, had taken on a divine sheen of beauty steeped in the fragrance of ancient wisdom and patina of gold, For in humble effort and intent, one had managed to touch something constant in the stretching for an anchor at the center of nothingness, which upheld all parts around it, seemingly unconnected. ..and the parts answered back, sometimes one by one…other times in concert, and the winged creature at once flew with the anchor now embedded within itself.
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*The Unknown Friend, artwork by Leonora Carrington