I’ve been meaning to make a copy of this poem ever since I discovered it on Anita’s web site. The poem was written by Deena Metzger (originally appeared in her book The Axis Mundi Poems).

When we recline back on our black leather couches in the middle of a warm afternoon, it is easy to sing praises about our shadow. Sure, we all know how fecund our darkness is, but when our heart is gripped in anxious terror, it is easy to forget that part. And when the cold sweat is washed away in a warm bath of morning, we want to forget the pain and the stress.

Yes, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, but that isn’t the only point of the dark. Sure, you can make a mental note to avoid that crossing, but there is an even deeper meaning to our depth of darkness.

Like the fish in the page’s cup, or a high priestess with a veil over her face, our shadowy world of our subconscious has messages. Perhaps not all of the bubbles that make it to the surface are useful, but ignoring them won’t help.

As we push our sisyphean boulder up the mountain of our life, there are times when we have the boulder on the top, then there are times when we watch the boulder roll, then there are times when we walk down the hill… but perhaps the longest and most important times is when we are in the dark chasm of our soul and just about to put our shoulder to our rock.

It is at this time we need to carve a poem in our hand… less we forget.