The Healer on the Landscape of my Heart
Something ugly happened
A box appeared
I did something ugly
Another box
I didn’t do something
Another
Many things ugly done to me
By others
Boxes upon boxes
Multiplying
Cluttering the landscape
Of my heart
Each housing
A vacuum-sucking
Grotesque
Grub-like worm
That wanted
To pull me in
To eat me
Destroy me
I slammed on one lid, then another
The worms
Cracked them open again
From even a tiny slice of space
Strong magnetic pulls
Sounds of powerful vaccum suctioning
as they breathed in and then
Gurggled out
Their names:
“Pain”
“Suffering”
“Guilt”
“Shame”
“Fear”
“Anxiety”
“Worry”
“Anger”
“Failure”
“Weakness”
“Stupidity”
Trying to deny Anger
I removed it’s lid
In foolish boldness!
Self-effort’s pride raising high its head:
“I’ll kill this creature,” it said.
But, no!
The creature’s sucking
Diminished
Prideful self-will’s
Mirage of strength
Pulling me in
Enough to feel
its gluttony flesh
—Clearly It wanted
To wholly consume me
I recoiled
And escaped!
Better not to underestimate
the life-sapping, vacuum-suction power
of sin and failure
the life-sapping, vacuum-suction power
of sin and failure
Better to just ingore
The force of suction breathing yet unabating
No escaping
From all sides
Rumbling undercurrents
Grumbling their names
Ever in my ears
Ignore? Impossible!
Just avoid. Yes!
And forget
And pretend
They are not there!
But after a while
In the host of boxes innumerable!
I tripped—accidentally—over fear
And a betraying “friend”
Maliciously
Opened guilt
And then shame
And then shame
Lids opened,
My secrets screamed out loud
Escaping for all to see
My secrets screamed out loud
Escaping for all to see
I, instantly weakened
Close to succumbing
Again
To the sucking
Creatures within.
Close to losing any facad of functionality
I resisted
Slammed lids closed again
Wished for locks
That didn’t exist
Vowed to not be so clumbsy
To increase my seclusion
To devote to greater privacy for
My secret grub-worm box garden collection
I determined to increase the efforts
To fill my landscape with other things
To camoflage the boxes
Out of my view
Out of others’ sight
Far from my memory
I must demand of myself
No more tolerance of others intent on
Malicious or well-intended revelations
No more accidental trippings
And
Some far-away day—maybe
To get stronger
Somehow
To fight these squirming
Residents of my heart’s landscape
And win!
But wait!
Something or someone
Lifted my gaze from the
Something or someone
Lifted my gaze from the
Burried clutter,
The Ever Present One
The Comforter
Almost blinding light
Bursting through the shadows
From an old forgotten book on my shelf
I lifted it.
I read.
Read of You,
The Redeemer.
Bursting through the shadows
From an old forgotten book on my shelf
I lifted it.
I read.
Read of You,
The Redeemer.
A Love embodied!
A Love all-seeing of
All the boxes
Through my smokescreens
Through the camoflaging masks
You held my hand
Your words coaxed me
Against my will
Close to a box I’d hidden.
You
You
Surfaced it,
Dared to crack it
To my dread!
The suction growing stronger
It’s voice growing louder
Your body, though,
Blocking it
My barricade
Your hands up
Holding me back
“My battle!” You cried
Your hands
Fully opened it
Your loving face
hung down
Your loving face
hung down
You entered
I feared
You disappeared
Silence
The suction
Ceased
Was a carniverous worm
The Healer Redeemer's fate?
My eyes
Widened with dread
My heart numbing
My hope slipping
Then
Unphased
In quiet peace
You arose
Lifted a worm
Limp in your hands
We rolled it around
And around
Examined it together
It crysalis-ized before our eyes
And then emerge—
From it’s glistening shell
It flew
From Your open scarred hands
To pollinate flowers
To bring forth fruit
To bring forth fruit
on the landscape of my heart
My flowers!
And Yours!
I looked around
I looked around
And his!
And hers!
“Shall we open another box?”
“And another?”
I meekly said
To the Healer
And
To the others circled around us
Many others
Whose hearts' landscapes
once, too, were cluttered with boxes
upon boxes
but now
overflow with the beauty and aroma
of eternal flowers.
Whose hearts' landscapes
once, too, were cluttered with boxes
upon boxes
but now
overflow with the beauty and aroma
of eternal flowers.
By Rhonda L. Wilkinson
a response to reading
Shame Interrupted byEdward T. Welsh
and to counseling those battling with shame
edited 5/17/2016
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