I Am: A Spirituality Poem

Today, I’d like to share a poem from my student, Rach. She offers some wonderful insights through the truthfulness of her lines and stanzas. While I often write the same things in a different kind of prose, there are ways that poetry and other forms of writing can feel more compelling by the nature of how they are presented. Also, the lovely picture is from her as well.

With that, I hope you enjoy this thoughtful sharing of Self-discovery.

I Am

What felt so real, deep, and certain just there

Is gone now and is no more.

Maybe to come back again

Who knows what is in store?

Sometimes I feel I get it, it’s fabulous,

it’s flux and flow and change.

Then I’m neck deep in depression 

I “am depressed” and feel I’m going insane.

Insane because I’m desperate, drowning

stopped in my tracks in dark despair.

When just yesterday I was dancing, laughing so much I almost fell off a chair.

Once again despair passes 

and once again I see

So this despair is not me!

I’m bright and bushy

Full of love and light.

Is this then what is real??

Surrendering to silence

Sensing the expansiveness, that whole

The space of stillness in my soul

Sinking deep into my Self 

The Self that ponders “which me is I?”

“The light, bright and bushy one?

The depressed, dressed in despair, done one?”

So surrendering deeper, further into that which observes the pondering itself.

The space that witnesses whatever is

what thought, sense, state, emotion is dwelt.

Whatever’s dealt and happens to be there,

and then the next one as though the previous never were.

Constant flux and flow and change…

Which I is really me?

I am that from which all is passing through

That from which manifests

the movement we may think

and believe is solid me and you.

This me and you is momentary,

Fluid.

Not long the same.

Tears, laughter, listlesness

None forever remain.

What remains is I

That which is

Was 

Will always be

Which we cannot describe with words

And cannot see.

That from which these words arise

Cannot be said,

Only truly known.

What moves this pen,

From where these words are manifest

Into this now

This is-ness is

invisible, indescribable somehow.

And this how’s not to be figured out

not something to be done.

Only felt and known

in fully letting go.

In recognising and dropping in

to the space that’s still and sees 

that our breath, our heartbeat

are breathed and beat

Not through our wish or will.

I do not breathe

The breath is there

I do not do it

It is done

I am life

I do not live

I am alive!

Much is manifest in many forms 

in this constant web of change.

All is one.

One life

One moment

One witness

One being

I am