The Worm comes into the Light

My soul knows this place.
It wants comfort. A hand, a caress, a kiss,
but i know that i too
did not come into this world to be comforted.
Work is at hand, floors to be cleaned,
old junk taken to the dump
dust bunnies swept from closets.

I am not the beautiful man i imagined myself to be.
Just ordinary, full of pain, neurotic and wounded
Yes, light has penetrated, and blessings have arrived,
for that i am eternally grateful.
And i am even grateful to see the places that have gone unloved
and the work that has gone undone.
The emerging Self is grateful to feel this writhing and moaning
worm make itself visible.

For how else can this old parasite
be convinced to leave for good.
If not for the Light, i could stay in the damp dark basement forever.
But the work that needs to be done, it is not for me
but for the children and the flowers,
this ancient Worm was not my creation
and the songs i sing are not mine.

Let this be done.
Enough tears have been shed, and enough whining and self pity.
It's nothing really, in a world of horrors, and children being bombed.
Nothing to speak of, when all hell is breaking loose
And the Light of the earth herself,
breaks through all of the basements of the world
And as the old structures give way, built as they are on foundations
of greed and selfish madness,
there is yet a moment where all seems possible
and the destruction of the world
a necessary sorrow
to allow the flowers of light
to shine in new meadows
where love and love only is worshipped
and each gesture to each other
is made from the purest of hearts
with no agenda, hidden or otherwise
other than to meet
my Self,
dancing in a World of Light.