I can’t hear you,
we’re so far apart.
I don’t understand you;
no common ground.
In this place of anger,
all I hear is judgement,
blame and condemnation.
I feel great pain,
knowing I can’t hear you,
and that you can’t hear me.
The agony of not
understanding, nor being understood.
I cringe as the pain takes hold,
and feel myself retreating
into the dark, hidden recesses of my psyche.
In the darkness,
a strangely familiar
voice whispers,
beckoning me from the darkness,
at least a little.
This voice, my sweet Self
assures me that it hears,
understands me.
The frozen furrowed brow of anger
dissolves into
the softening tears of compassion.
I acknowledge, gratefully,
that I am in a new place,
one of utterly complete acceptance,
of love and equanimity.
Slowly, I begin to hear another voice,
faintly at first
then, gradually, loudly and clearly.
I hear your voice
and begin to notice
all that it contains.
Not the words;
they deceive.
Rather, the essence;
the agony of separation,
and the ecstasy of reunion.
As this hearing,
this perception,
this reception
expands, deepens
I begin to understand.
Gradually, as I stay,
just stay, here,
here at Home,
understanding emerges
And with it,
great joy and gratitude.
At last,
judgement transforms into compassion,
distance into closeness,
misunderstanding into one unified voice.
Chaz B.