Monday, December 26, 2011

Words that buzz in my mind like so many persistent flies.

To those who have seen
The Child, however dimly, however incredulously,
The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all.
For the innocent children who whispered so excitedly
Outside the locked door where they knew the presents to be
Grew up when it opened. Now, recollecting that moment

We can repress the joy, but the guilt remains conscious,
Remembering the stable where for once in our lives
Everything became a You and nothing was an It.
And craving the sensation but ignoring the cause,
We look round for something, no matter what, to inhibit
Our self-reflection,

(W.H. Auden)

This is an excerpt from "For the Time Being." The portion of the poem from whence it comes has been frequently on my mind of late. I think it is, to me, a hauntingly true reflection of my own spiritual state. I'm not even entirely sure in what sense (yet), but it resonates too deeply to be of no consequence. 

Related or not, a phrase from John's first epistle have recently, doggedly come to mind:

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