Toil [In Segments] | Poem
What I find, in my heart, to be the rawest of experiences is that of toiling.
The post-toil respite is a gift that tempers the heart of humanity and allows us to see what is real and let all that is petty to fall by the wayside.
Though the vast infinite of all that is knowable lie far beyond the reach of our minds;
We do, simply and truly, know that there is something beyond ourselves.
Where there is more,
Where we can reach further
Or at the very least of all actions, make an attempt to reach.
May my privilege of a life-lived-easy not stain my words and make them any less true than those who have toiled for seeming eons.
I too wish to be tempered in hardship.
But that wish does not stem from the most stable part of my heart.
The region that wish is born from is the same that stirs me to seek the feeling of having earned my place on this stone cast through the cosmos.
That feeling of ‘health’
That feeling of being spent
Exhaustion after a run
The weight of existence slipping off my tired shoulders, loose now; alleviated from that burden
What they need, my shoulders, my body, my form
Separation from the vile, from the anxious
Removal of the polluting stem rooted deep within.
It beckons me to perform self-vivisection to reveal its workings and my own.
To understand it all
And then to move further away from the habits, the schemas,
the vacuous regions where gods once lived
To gain distance
But just enough distance to realize their worth
I’ll feel it, like I do every time
The sufferer and the suffered
The toiler and the toiled
Offering one another a security second to none other
You complete me
And in turn, I must ruin you.
As that teacher called it so long ago.