Nov 11 2016
Theodore Roethke – In a Dark Time (thoughts on the election)
In a Dark Time
by Theodore Roethke
In a dark time, the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade;
I hear my echo in the echoing wood —
A lord of nature weeping to a tree,
I live between the heron and the wren,
Beasts of the hill and serpents of the den.
What’s madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance? The day’s on fire!
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.
That place among the rocks — is it a cave,
Or winding path? The edge is what I have.
A steady storm of correspondences!
A night flowing with birds, a ragged moon,
And in broad day the midnight come again!
A man goes far to find out what he is —
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
Dark, dark my light, and darker my desire.
My soul, like some heat-maddened summer fly,
Keeps buzzing at the sill. Which I is I?
A fallen man, I climb out of my fear.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.
— from The Collected Poems of Theodore Roethke, by Theodore Roethke
/ Image by iNeedChemicalX /
I know many of us are deeply disturbed and frightened by the results of the US elections this week. I won’t say that things are okay. I will just say what I have said elsewhere in recent days:
Before election day and after election day, the work remains the same– to give a helping hand, to protect the vulnerable, to cultivate a livable future, to be less blind to others, to be fully present, to embody love in a troubled world.
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This poem by Roethke is one of those poems to keep close in difficult times.
In a dark time, the eye begins to see
The struggle against despair, disorientation, darkness. The solitary individual lost in a lost world. We have all been there at some point in our lives. Deep seekers have a particular tendency to travel through those shadowed spaces.
I know the purity of pure despair,
My shadow pinned against a sweating wall.
That despair is often a deep seated sense that something is fundamentally wrong with the human world presented to us. It can feel uncaring, limited, violent, broken, and incomplete. In other words, it is a place that does not accept the individual as he or she is. To operate in the human world, we are forced into games of pretense and self-disguise. It is a feeling of homelessness and isolation.
What does one do when the soul is at odds with circumstance? It creates a terrible crisis. As social creatures, we align with the group mind, often without awareness or consent. The more naturally we do this, the better we fit into society and exist in the human world. But what about the eccentrics and visionaries, those who resist that psychic pull in order to answer the soul’s need to be itself and see beyond social artifice?
The edge is what I have.
They tend to dwell at the edges. That is where both danger and possibility are found. There we gain the possibility of seeing clearly for the first time, witnessing reality as a complete and self-fulfilled individual.
But the danger is very real, as well. No longer relying on socially constructed reality as our boundary we also lose our safe landmarks. The psyche becomes disoriented and fragile.
To navigate this necessary dark night of the soul, the seeker and the artist must cultivate a highly refined inner sense of balance and discipline. This is an important reason for developing a vigorous spiritual practice. Without the necessary inner solidity, the tendency is to rely on dangerous crutches, like excessive drinking and drug use — a terrible problem for so many creative non-conformists.
Think of it this way: The normal consensus reality is like the rigid shell of an egg. It does an excellent job of safely containing the unformed individual and protecting it from exposure to the unknown outside reality. But, if the individual remains within that shell forever, he never experiences the fullness of life. Through spiritual practice, one awakens the fire of life and takes on inner solidity and form. Then, when the shell has become too confining, we can break free into the open air without danger of fragmentation, ready to encounter the new world.
…Those dark periods we experience, they do actually serve a purpose, awakening clarity of vision and a compassionate heart. When we feel most vulnerable and lost, we are often going through our greatest growth and transformation, readying for the blaze of light.
Death of the self in a long, tearless night,
All natural shapes blazing unnatural light.
We must learn to work deeply amidst the darkness. We discover who we really are slowly emerging from the shadows, for that is our stable landmark when all else shifts about.
The mind enters itself, and God the mind,
And one is One, free in the tearing wind.
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Which poem do you read when you are troubled or frightened? What gives you comfort, clarity, or courage? Let me know.
Sending love.
Recommended Books: Theodore Roethke
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Theodore Roethke
US (1908 – 1963) Timeline |
Thank you for all you do.
Dear Ivan,
Thank you for the Roethke poem, and your deep and open-hearted thoughts.
When I received the poem in my email, I had just finished writing my friends in our contemplative prayer group. Here are snatches from my mailing. I included my own poem and Thanksgiving greeting.
At times like these, we are drawn deeper and deeper, and there is So Much to draw from!
——————————–
Dear Contemplatives,
What a week it has been! May we pray for and BE peace in a fractured world! The seasons of the years give us help in this direction. Autumn is a letting go, but also a reminder that Presence is ongoing, whether we “feel” it or not. May we each be present in that Presence which is always here right now.
Thanksgiving will soon be upon us, and as contemplatives it is our practice to always be grateful. I am attaching a poem I wrote from years back. May you be filled with peace and gratitude, and may you know God’s Presence within you.
Now earth yields
to winter contemplation,
quiet, empty
after bearing fruit.
A final burst of glory
opens wider sky,
bringing nearness
to what seemed beyond.
* * * *
Let each one of us open in silent reverence
to give thanks for all that is
and all that is yet
to be
Blessings!
Diana Malon
Thank you Ivan. This is exactly what is needed, and your commentary is spot-on.
Start building solidarity networks with the oppressed (LGBTQIA people, Black, indigenous, people of color, Muslims etc)
Yes, these are very disturbing times most especially with the results of the US elections. You are so right that we must carry on regardless , being true to ourselves, giving support ,respect and care to all around us, and taking care not to judge or condemn those whose values differ from our own. It is a call to trust.
One of the poems I turn to in dark times is Mary Oliver’s “Praying” .
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a slience in which
another voice may speak.
Thanks for all you do…hugely appreciated , your work, your generosity, and the poetry. Cynthia Moran .
Well said!
Yes, these are very disturbing times most especially with the results of the US elections. You are so right that we must carry on regardless , being true to ourselves, giving support ,respect and care to all around us, and taking care not to judge or condemn those whose values differ from our own. It is a call to trust.
One of the poems I turn to in dark times is Mary Oliver’s “Praying” .
It doesn’t have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don’t try
to make them elaborate, this isn’t
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.
Thanks for all you do…hugely appreciated ; your work, your generosity, and the poetry. Cynthia Moran .
That is an exquisite poem – no doubt. It has great literary merit.
But, I can’t understand why the caption has been extended in parentheses. Has the poet permitted that?
If one is in despair, there are thousands in glee about the election results. I am not an American. I am in the US now and I can see that. The people voted the way they wanted to and the writings on the wall were clear from day one to discerning eyes. Let the world learn to accept it instead of propagating prophesies of doom.
May be it is all for the good of America and the world at large.
In a Dark Time is one of my favorite poems, and one I often turn to in my dark times.
Thank you for all that you do.
Blessings, Prema
Thank you Ivan. Hard to understand how this could happen but your choice of poem is gift. Both to hope and reflection so thank you. Colleen
The poem that has always kept me moving forward, or standing resolutely still, whichever has been the difficult direction of the path, has been Sylvia Plath’s Hermit at Outermost House:
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Sky and sea, horizon-hinged
Tablets of blank blue, couldn’t,
Clapped shut, flatten this man out.
The great gods, Stone-Head, Claw-Foot,
Winded by much rock-bumping
And claw-threat, realized that.
For what, then, had they endured
Dourly the long hots and colds,
Those old despots, if he sat
Laugh-shaken on his doorsill,
Backbone unbendable as
Timbers of his upright hut?
Hard gods were there, nothing else.
Still he thumbed out something else.
Thumbed no stony, horny pot,
But a certain meaning green.
He withstood them, that hermit.
Rock-face, crab-claw verged on green.
Gulls mulled in the greenest light
– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –
Here was a person (Plath) who needed, desperately, something to cling to; and from the depths of her despair she shared it with us. Like Bukowski’s bluebird but cherished and nurtured—not tormented but a secret and sacred relief from torment: her Light.
I keep her intimate gift nearby me to remind me to not despair in the light of despair, to not just stare dumbfounded like a hunted frog or shocked doe, but to marvel at the light itself, its beauty, and look for its source.
The United States has so much light, how else could it cast such long shadows?
Thank you for posting this, Ian. WOW! What a great piece of reflection, so apt for the current mood. Wonderful feedback also. Heart felt thoughts for you over there in the States, one can only hope that somehow beyond this fear of imminent dark that real light may be born; sometimes things appear to be worst and can eventually prove to be the best that could have happened. Prayers and love from Australia.
Thank you so much Ivan. Here in New Zealand most people are sad, worried and appalled. John Henry Newman wrote a poem/hymn: Lead Kindly Light, among the encircling gloom, lead thou me on; the night is dark and I am far from home, lead thou me on…”….
And Psalm 23 says: “though I should walk in the valley of darkness, no evil will I fear, for YOU ARE THERE….”
We can only strive to spread love and not hate and anger, thus contributing to the movement against hate and greed.
Thank you again Ivan for the nourishment your poetry and comments never fail to provide.
Gemma
” One must rise by that which one falls”
– Hevajra Tantra
The night of despair already carries the seed of dawn!
Poem for troubled times?
It was the “Serenity Prayer. or a couplet from the Upanishads:
Lead me from delusion to reason.
Lead me from the unreal to the real.
But from now on it will be this poem
(along with your commentary.)
……I share your pain & concerns brother Ivan ……..: there is a poem from Tagore’s world
Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way
Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit
Where the mind is led forward by thee
Into ever-widening thought and action
Into that heaven of freedom, my Father, let my country awake.
Lovely. Thanks Balram – always loved Tagore.