“Man cannot discover new oceans
unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.”
~ Andre Gide
Transition and transformation…
it takes courage to break free of what is to manifest what can be.
It can be a lonely path – often getting worse before it gets better – but so worth the journey.
words by Luna Jade
Walking through a wounded world,
tendrils of pain and broken dreams
snake out from each sorrow-full soul,
wrapping themselves around all in reach.
The emptiness can be contagious…
The illusion of pain inflicted easing one’s own.
Why do the wounded wound?
Is there comfort found in living
encased in a shared tomb?
Anchor chains self-multiplying,
Denying the light in favor of
the familiar comfort found in darkness.
One soul nurtures an infant spark…
fan the flames and watch it grow
from flicker to a healthy glow.
The seeds of promise dance within.
Pass the light from heart to hand,
spreading hope throughout the land,
chains cannot this love withstand.
The glow of love like warmth,
melting the icy sadness.
The pain bequeathed from those before
need not live on in perpetuity.
The cycle need not be infinite.
The limits are illusion.
The endless horizon viewed
once vision is cleared of filters.
The one soul,
gathering light and hope,
musters the courage to venture forth:
away from the many,
away from the familiar sameness of shared illusion,
away from the false safety of the pack mind;
daring to dream with new eyes.
But the status quo fears injection of a new direction.
The false comfort in sameness and familiar
threatened by the bold new path of one of their own.
Chronic pain preferred to the unknown;
the “strange” rejected in favor of the “sure”.
Instead of support and well wishes,
responding with grudging suspicion;
With spikes at the ready
to burst the buoyant bubble
that carries their former kin to lands unknown.
Seeing only wrongness in the different,
preferring the way it has always been…
the way they were taught…
to the way yet unclear.
Finding comfort in the perception of “right”
cast in their shared illusion,
condemning all they do not understand.
The bold action of one,
daring to believe and break free,
should inspire visions of their own emancipation -
an example of possibility -
not hold a mirror reflecting their arrested state.
Their eyes, still clouded by all they have known,
cannot see the through the familiar fog
to the shimmering vista of hope just beyond.
The one soul,
slowly floating away towards the new,
turns back in love to reach out a hand,
hoping to inspire a change of vision,
inviting companions to share the journey.
But the invitation to what can be
is rejected in favor of what is.
Eyes once opened cannot return to darkness.
There is fear in the way forward,
but pain in remaining,
one’s resolve and momentum weakened
by the pull of the familiar maelstrom.
The path to promise cannot be found by standing still.
So, with hopeful sadness,
the one soul resumes the journey on.
Progress at times slow,
resolution often wavering
as the path remains unclear
but unfolding with each step.
The way through, often elusive and indistinct,
materializes slowly, coming into view,
signposts appearing along the way,
offering reassurance to stay the trail.
In time, as the odyssey evolves,
the one crosses paths with other souls venturing forth.
Kindred travelers seeking their own destination,
encounters fleeting or prolonged…
some companions for the next leg,
some partners in the path,
some challenges to experience and overcome,
some offering support, guidance or lessons…
all providing gentle clues and course corrections
to light the way
to the pinnacle of promise
at journey’s end.
© 2009 Luna Jade
“Wouldn’t he remember his first home, what passed for wisdom there, and his fellow prisoners… and wouldn’t he disdain whatever honors, praises, and prizes were awarded there to the ones who guessed best which shadows followed which? Moreover, were he to return there, wouldn’t he be rather bad at their game, no longer being accustomed to the darkness?
Wouldn’t it be said of him that he went up and came back with his eyes corrupted, and that it’s not even worth trying to go up? And if they were somehow able to get their hands on and kill the man who attempts to release and lead them up, wouldn’t they kill him?”
Note: I did not have Plato’s Cave in mind when I wrote “Journey To Promise Through Pain” back in 2009, but, reading it again, I recognize a resonant theme.