On its way through the innocent night,
The moth is ambushed by the light,
Becomes glued to a window
Where a candle burns;
Its whole self, its
Dreams of flight and all desire
Trapped in one glazed gaze;
Now nothing else can satisfy
But the deadly beauty of flame.
When you lose the feel for all other belonging
And what is truly near becomes distant and ghostly,
And you are visited and claimed by a simplicity
Sinister in its singularity,
No longer yourself,
Your mind and will owned and steered
From elsewhere now,
You would sacrifice anything to dance once more
To the haunted music with your fatal beloved,
Who owns the eyes of your heart.
These words of blessing cannot reach,
Even as echoes,
To the shore where you are,
Yet may they they work without you
To soften some slight line through
To the white cave
Where your soul is captive.
May some glimmer of outside light reach
To help you recognize how you have fallen for a Vampire.
May you crash hard and soon onto real ground again
Where this fundamentalist shell
Might start to crack
For you to hear again: your own echo.
That your lost lonesome heart
Might learn to cry out for the
True intimacy of love that waits
To take you home
To where you are known and seen
And where your life is treasured
Beyond every frontier of despair
You have crossed.
To Bless the Space
Between Us: A Book of Blessings
by John O'Donohue