Do Not Let Them In, They Are Not Here
By Jane Tawel
September 16, 2022
She is not here now.
And when you let her in,
again and again,
you reveal your true insanity.
Not being part of
any true reality,
her presence has driven you mad.
He is not in this space.
But you have flung open
the entrances to your mind,
and now you have to face the fact,
that though you have allowed
the thief of your peaceful thoughts
almost constant habitation there,
he is dead,
(or would be if you killed him).
Allow him to die an honorable death.
Kill him gently
without leaving too much blood
on the floors in your house,
and then clean up the mess.
Remember he only came because you bid him come
and then blamed him for leaving grey scum
on the walls of your mind’s home.
He does not live here today,
and need not live in the home of your heart
They come disguised as cleaning crews,
or helpful guests and family,
pretending to help
with the cleaning-up of calamities
or of my misunderstandings,
but my need for them, not withstanding,
it is a relationship of lies.
For thoughts are just a house of cards,
if peopled by things one cannot see with eyes,
or hear alive in the world that exists outside the mind,
or touch with skin to skin,
feeling the softness of your cheek or the cheek of a ripe peach,
or made with something I can taste or drink
or move with the circles of my speech.
All that would dwell in the shadows
of my darkened house, filled with the
blood-suckers that would steal awakening joy,
these are nothing more
than dust motes of past emotions,
or the fogs that roll in from the future but don’t stay —
Oh, all of this is nothing of me
in just this place — this day.
Yes, I have invited all of you not really here,
under false pretenses.
But trying to make you feel at ease as my mind’s guests,
serving your phantasmagorical hungers
from the hard labors
of the meals of my perceptions and attachments,
I feel like an alien in my own home.
The people I let in,
who do not really live here in my space,
are dirty and rude
because I allow them
to mess up that within
the home of my heart
and that which should be hallowed
in the hallways of my mind,
and still I find
it is hard to say good-bye to them.
And all that is meant to be preserved for my good,
is filled with the flood,
and mud of thinking on and on and on
about things that are not present now.
Do not let them in; they are not here.
Kick them all to the curb;
and prohibit them from
the treasure-room of yourself.
Those who used to live here,
or have not yet been born to you,
must take their place
with the other hallucinations
that your mind would create.
We all hear voices.
And yet, we do not stop our ears,
against those who would crash us on the shores,
of wasted energy and emotions
of all and anything that is not love.
Why, oh why, do we feel guilt,
when we release those
who do not live with us today,
those which we would cling to from yesterday,
or yearn or fear for in our tomorrows,
tomorrows which should remain unimagined?
We must stop our remembering
and our imagining,
as we dream of and with only those present,
in the here and now,
dreaming them in the reality of today.
Let all of them,
all but your best present-presence,
and that which is only alive in you for just this day,
leave your home,
and live where they belong,
in the house of the dead.
Let those who are not here,
take-up their residence where they belong,
and reside no more in your now
where only you
can see God and live.
Yes, there is enough space for only you,
your very present God, and you,
your home, which is yourself.
and only know this moment
and only in this moment, know
And let all others go.
Set them free.
So that your true self
is not housed,
but truly sheltered.
And Love will then
find plenty of room,
to fill the empty spaces,
that ghosts and chimeras have left behind.
In your home,
may all your past and future
no longer look to you
for tents of understanding build on bogs.
And in the only place you ever need,
the place in you that you call home,
the home that is yourself,
may you live forever-now
© Jane Tawel, 2022
One thought on “Do Not Let Them In, They Are Not Here”
once was too much
and as such not never again
dying by degrees
be they centigrade or fahrenheit!
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