Moonlight Musings

The Call

By ElizabethCrawford

       I

God handed a pen
to the prophet,
said, “Thou shalt write
until you come
to the end of words.”

The prophet, a would
be, dreamy-eyed poet,
cried, “But, what if
there is no end?”

God smiled, said,
“That would be
good.”

      II

So, the prophet
who would be a poet, wrote
through long dark night
into day, and the next,
’til the pen ran out
of ink.

Brought it to God
said, “This pen
has run dry,
but the words
have found no end.”

And God said,
“Wring the darkness
from within,
let it drop into a bowl,
mix it with tears
from your very soul,
and then write, until
you come…”

“to the end of words,”
whispered
the prophet/poet

And God said,
“Amen.”

      III

So, the prophet
who would be a poet,
became a hermit.
Made her way
through dank caves
of her inmost being,
found old wounds
that made her cry,
pried them loose
and used these truths
to find still more
words.

God came to visit,
asked, “Have you found
it yet?”

And the prophet
who would be a poet,
but was now a hermit
said, “No, but I have found
many other things.”

“Ahhh,” said God,
“what have you found?”

The hermit showed God
her aloneness.
The prophet showed God
her personal truths,
and the poet showed God
a feather from a small
speckled hen, and a pebble
from the beach, that had found
its way into her sandal.

God told the hermit
of spending an eternity,
alone in a dark black void,
before Creation.

God told the prophet
that truths are guides
meant only to point toward,
perhaps eventually reveal
a final destination.

Then God took up
the feather, touched it
lightly to the pebble,
and the pebble cracked
in half. God gave the halves
of the pebble to the prophet
and the hermit, then touched
the feather to the poet’s lips,
before giving her that object.

God said, “These are sacred
treasures. Keep them always,
and be mindful.”

And the poet joyfully whispered,
“Amen”

Copyright © Elizabeth Crawford 2010

Elizabeth is well-known to us here through her participation and sharing, and as the subject of some of Sherry's wonderful features. Her writing is always a joy to read, I'm sure you'll agree, as well as deeply thoughtful.

Here is the brief bio she kindly provided me with:

Although the call to write came at a young age (four or five), Elizabeth didn’t actively start writing until her late thirties. And when she did, it wasn’t with any great desire to be published, but rather to explore the mystery of being Elizabeth. She had found the cheapest form of therapy in pen on paper, often finding answers, as well as resolution, between the margins of a single page. The tools and techniques of writing poetry allowed her to step away from the immediate moment, and to explore that moment from different angles, often finding understanding. But poetry also brought her some of the richest experiences of her existence: including being involved with a Grammy Nomination, which later allowed for a late in life career change to teaching at the University from which she had graduated, as well as most of the Fine Art schools in the area where she lived. 

This remarkable poem seemed to me so profound, I thought it worth musing upon – and the musings I share with you are not mine but Elizabeth's own. Even in the bio notes above, she begins by describing poetry as a call, which seems to be the crux of the matter. 

She further expanded on the idea of a calling, and on this poem in particular:

The poem is a piece of what is called Mythopoesis, derived from Mythopoeia, meaning the making of Myth. The word was coined by J.R.R. Tolkien after he had a rather heated argument with Sinclair Lewis. Lewis strongly believed that myths were total falsehoods, and misleading at best. Tolkien went home, after the argument, and wrote the poem Mythopoeia, in which he defended the artists, including poets, of any generation who create myths using their art and figurative language to enlighten their generation about the ongoing development of the individual psyche and the state of being human.

The poem itself is based in symbolism, as are most myths. Its characters are symbols. The three human characters are the three elements, I believe, which are necessary to anyone who explores their own creative potential. The Hermit is the Heart (emotional) aspect of the individual, while the Prophet represents the head, or mind, of that single person. The Poet, or Artist, is the voice of the soul being expressed. God, of course, is the Higher Power and represents the spiritual aspect of Life’s journey.

In Scripture, and other ancient writings, the human heart and mind are often said to be made of stone-like substance that must be softened by the Spirit of truth. Feathers are a symbol of truth because they are light enough to drift on a breath of wind, yet strong enough to carry the weight of a life wherever it needs to go. Thus, in the poem, the feather cracks the pebble in half and those halves are given to the mind and heart of the single individual. The feather is given to the Poet (Artist) to encourage the further exploration of the spiritual truth that brings completion and wholeness to the entire individual. 

I believe that Creativity is a built-in healing element within each of us. And, also agree with Joseph Campbell, the leading mythologist of the past century, when he tells us that the only task for the individual is to find and follow his/her bliss. That bliss is the creative element within our own psyche. The means of expressing our truth. A truth that eventually allows us to recognize the truth and falsehoods to be found in the world around us. 

What do you think, poets?

• Is poetry a calling for you? Even a sacred calling? Or is it rather a delightful game or hobby? (It is what it is; no right or wrong. I'm just curious.)
• Do you find that Creativity is a healing element within you?
• Is bliss the true sign of our purpose, our calling? 
• Is it indeed the means of adhering to our truth?  And can adhering to our own truth really enable us to discern what else is true and what is false?

I will say a resounding yes to all of the above! How lucky I was to be called to poetry at an early age. It's been a powerful call and has sustained me through all my life experiences, including the sad and traumatic. Yes, it is a way I heal myself, over time. And I have always felt that I cannot (and must not) lie in my poetry – though creating fictions is a thing I sometimes do. (We are talking truth rather than facts, and fiction can certainly reveal truths.) Finding my way to my own deepest truth has not always been quick or easy, but poetry has always helped me do so.

So how about you? Elizabeth and I would love to read your comments. We are likely to respond, too, so do come back and check.

I'll leave you with one last question: What role do you see for poetry  – including your own – in troubled times?

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Yes I know – I said I would only post fortnightly now. But I got my internet problems fixed, finally. Let me tell you, it takes up a lot more time and energy being disconnected than connected! Also, on my weeks off I missed doing this. So I'm back to every Friday. Only I do like the flexibility of having no set schedule, and surprising you (and maybe myself). So you'll be getting 'I Wish I'd Written This', 'The Living Dead', 'Thought Provokers' and 'Moonlight Musings' in no particular order. I hope you enjoy!