Here’s a fact: that pain transmutes into wisdom. What’s the significance of that? It is the Philosopher’s Stone, the transformation of lead into gold. What does it encompass? Prayers, strife, sorrow, weakness. What does it preclude? Bitterness. Unless the heart changes nothing else will. Every human soul at the beginning of its journey carries the injunction to spread what it is by nature into its environment. If this had happened the world would be a heavenly place, a Garden of Eden. Of course we fell foul of enemies in the undergrowth and betrayed our original innocence. But at different periods in our spiritual existence the miracle is reaffirmed. We regain that vision of the true gold of life and make a vow – not an injunction now but a vow – to transmute what is fallen, what is failing, and restore it to the world as the fruit of existence.
I am aware of the theology in this – that something has to touch the heart to set the transformative process in train. And that something is the power of life itself, or Love. But our concepts often seem to grow remote from reality. Only – which reality do you take as your own? The one which presents itself only in physical terms or the one which you swore to all that time ago, before your life on earth began? It is hard to conceive truly with concepts – for that we need imagination. We need the artistry of our heart, of our life, which refuses to be defeated. It is this hidden fibre of existence which recognizes the Philosopher’s Stone in us, which sparks off it. And then the vow we made becomes fruitful. Despite the vagaries of life, the pains, sorrows, strife and weaknesses, the gold of our original intention starts to show itself in the world.
Therefore I say that not even the greatest visionary can tell how it is that failure is not what it seems. My vow remains intact. Similarly, this striving for the unknowledgeable, buried like gold in our souls, is proof – proof past-perfect – of the life before birth. And finally, it is a miracle foretold, that what believes itself in deepest night will mark the page in symbols, from a past when light lay undefeated in my heart.
And this life is a vow both taken
and forgotten – a striving to achieve
its ends without recall of what they are:
I solemnly swear to do as I must.
But failure always dances at our heels,
haunts the imagination and deceives:
not even the greatest visionary
can tell how, having failed, my vow is kept.
This striving for the unknowledgeable –
buried like the deepest gold in our souls –
is proof past-perfect of life before birth,
is witness to the greatest hour of all:
when the vow was made to restore that gold
to the leaden, forlorn skies of the world,
which preserve no comfort for the sighted,
nor for the blind who long to hear of light.
And if I could I’d publish what I vowed
before the faults of life had intervened.
But sorrows, prayers and failings line the path
and change the words to something unforeseen.
And yet it is a miracle foretold
that what believes itself in deepest night
will mark the page in symbols from the past
when light lay undefeated in my heart.
Best wishes, today,
©landar 2011. All rights reserved