William Stafford: A Ritual to Read to Each Other

I often speak and write of the darkness I have lived in and my journey through and out of the fog that I had mistaken for reality and into the truth of the beauty of who I am, of who you are, and of the Sacred thread which is woven through all of life. Many of us are lost. And many of us are awakening. This poem by William Stafford speaks deeply to me and to our times. — Molly

 A Ritual to Read to Each Other

 

If you don't know the kind of person I am

and I don't know the kind of person you are

a pattern that others made may prevail in the world

and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.

For there is many a small betrayal in the mind,

a shrug that lets the fragile sequence break

sending with shouts the horrible errors of childhood

storming out to play through the broken dike.

And as elephants parade holding each elephant's tail,

but if one wanders the circus won't find the park,

I call it cruel and maybe the root of all cruelty

to know what occurs but not recognize the fact.

And so I appeal to a voice, to something shadowy,

a remote important region in all who talk:

though we could fool each other, we should consider—

lest the parade of our mutual life get lost in the dark.

For it is important that awake people be awake,

or a breaking line may discourage them back to sleep;

the signals we give — yes or no, or maybe —

should be clear: the darkness around us is deep.

 

— William Stafford