I Am not Here

My Child,

Tonight I read The Odyssey--

Book 11--

That trip to Hades

Some call hell

And I almost wept

For Odysseus

When he asked

His mother

Why he could not hug her

After not one but three attempts

And she said,

Basically,

Darling son, I am not here.

Where imagination meets spirit,

You are alone.

Your flesh feels it; your mind knows it:

My voice comes from your heart.

All that sacrificing,

Carving up those beautiful animals

For the gods and for your feast

And all that drinking of the blood of your victims

So that I might speak--

What do you think that is about?

Despite all your hard living, you cannot answer.

I will tell you:

It is in your living that you hear my voice;`

Take life in your two hands,

But be ready to let it go,

To turn back from everything you think you want

And remember what you love.

Go back, my dear.

Love who you love.

Forget this illusion.  

I am not here.