X

Skelligs Speak

January 17, 2023

Skelligs Speak

By Amba Gale

(Upon reading “The Woodcarver,” by Chuang Tzu, as we enter 2022)

Out there,
the green grass of Eire
and the unshorn sheep,
beyond the rock hewn wall
and the wild Atlantic,

they hover,
like Himalayan mountains
whose unattainable peaks
call to you
as if
you were a monk,
climbing those impossible stairs
ready to go to mass<
ready to say your prayers
ready for anything God has to give you.

Except now.

Now you find it is difficult,
if not impossible
to accept
the stairs, the chants, the prayers,
the weather of the stormy seas,
the monastic life.

While the ancient rocks still call you,
you have left yourself in doubt
about your strength, about
your willingness to shape a life
of pure simplicity.

You question if
you can weather that impossible climb
where the weather blows
and the winds come racing a hundred miles per hour across
the rolling,
bone cold sea.

You know what you have to do,
but you just won’t do it.

What is being asked for is just too hard.

Oh, I pray for you, humanity,
in your soft, excessive clothes,
where life has become too easy.
The oh so ruthless bareness
and focused intentionality
of the Skelligs
is the lesson to be learned now.

A woodcarver, who has become one with his wood.

Who wants to climb those God forsaken stairs
to a bee hive hut
where no tree grows?

Who wants to
eat frugally
to find their God in the ancient rock?

Who wants to
live a life
where peace prevails
if it means that
surface pleasures drown in the rising tides
and conversations at the periphery must be left behind?

“How does this poem end?” you might ask,
I ask.
I do not know.

Only,
that we must fast
during this outrageous storm
and embrace our enoughness.

Only,
that the love that is found
at the bottom of our own holy well
is there, available, and lives
at the center of our longing.

Only,
that we must climb
our narrow stairs
in search of Truth.

Only,
that we must leave behind
what lives at the edge.

Only, that this time
we had better make our peace,
and learn what there is to learn,
and soon.

For our lives are at risk.

And the life of argument that we wanted to indulge
vanishes,
takes flight in the wind like a ghost
as we willingly and gladly leave behind
those surface conversations,
those actions that do not matter,
be mindful of our manners and our practices,
borne of soul
borne of heart,
and borne of the well wishes of the ancestors and ancients.

I do not know the part of me that wrote this poem.

Whoever did,
let it be a lesson for us all.

Additional Poetry

February 27, 2024

Awakening Sunrise

Your rising red orange crimson yellow ever‑changing light ever‑changing shape moment by moment in the sky in the sea startles me. Looking up through the living room’s glass door to the outside, I am amazed, aroused, engaged, awakened, astonished by your light. You wake me up to the present as if I have been in a dream. Presence comes first. Astonishment rushes in a brief moment after. Wonder follows, then these words of love to you. Bothered, ensnared, engulfed by all my worries, I have been asleep. Your sudden appearance and my willingness to be surprised meet and hold hands.…

February 13, 2024

Creating Spaciousness

Breathe. Let the light that is all around you enter through your crown chakra. Let it penetrate your Being. Feel The warmth of the fire within you. Know that you are loved. Align all the energies. Let them converge as one in the center of your Being. Breathe. Create space in time. All will come to pass in its own time. Don’t try to rush things. Breathe. Create room in time. Those creative possibilities are beautiful, all in their own time. Give yourself the gift of room in time. Let this knowing in your body and your heart lead the…

Return to Poetry >
X

Join Us!

Subscribe to receive my weekly blog, news, updates & more.

Join The Joy of Being Wait List

Enter your email to receive Amba's first book of poetry