“And then what happened?”…

….the teacher asks the student who thinks she has experienced enlightenment.

There is a romantic high offered in the approval from the audience
when a writer reads her work aloud,
when the writing is shared for feedback. 
The immediate visibility of writing for a blog
brought home the idea
writing is simply about writing. 
Or is it?

There is an integrity in writing and being with the Self
that allows the demons, spirits and last night’s conversation to have a place at the table. 

I want the accompanied solitude to hold its own space and
not lean against Pretense in its rebellious
strikes against surface matters.

My sense of Self will have a resurrected identity as Presentable. 
I know who I am on the other side of the door…I am a writer. 
Thank God, because until now, I thought I was at Conception.
Anonymity and Isolation tend to bend perspective.
My Priest does not recognize my Self as Special One or Commodity.
I recognize myself as a practicing writer. 

I am also the young Virgin who seeks reunion of first love.  
I no longer await the Fears
when I see things that others do not or
hear things that do not 
disturb the daily lives of
others around me.    

The Real conversation has always been
with the Source beyond this floating world. 
In her essay,  A Room of One’s Own,
Virginia Woolf eloquently reminds us
of our relationship to ultimate Reality
and not to one an other.   
“What is meant by reality?…
It overwhelms one walking home beneath the stars and
makes the silent world more real than the world of speech.”
Her senses impressed me
as I peered into the face of Eternity,
a discovery in my early twenties. 

When we write physically,
the spiritual work is nothing less
than the summons of Shakespear’s sister,
who like all the great poets
live forever and wait for us
to sing flesh upon her bones. 

Writing’s appearance is solitary but not without company. 
We are connected and rekindled by the greatest that history has
rebirthed from its tombs and times.  This I forget,

I fall to sleep and then
I remember when I sit
among Eternity’s tribe to write, to dream, to idle
onto poetry and a good truth.

Copyright 2010 Hae Jung Kwon. All rights reserved.


About heartbluestockings

All posts are original intellectual property. Copyright 2010 Hae Jung Kwon. All rights reserved.
This entry was posted in Writing Practice. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to “And then what happened?”…

  1. liz says:

    re: “I bust myself for thinking that if others love my (fill in the blank) that I will have “more” love in my life.” — ah delusion, attachment, craving. welcome to the experience of being human. awareness, awareness, awareness.

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