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Healer of the Rift of Grieving
LEONA SMITH KREMSER
O rift of grieving That a soul its earth-body is leaving...
Monsoon of tears then, sacrifice of gold Stay not the crossing at the grey threshold. In vain the dear name is called by the mourner, The part that would heed is departing forever. In truth, the soul is leaving behind the body As evidence that worldly existence is a duality -Soul and body in combination From the beginningless time of transmigration.
Yet the mourner in a cold fever of grief Curses all things yet living, even marigold leaf, And laments in a wailing litany,
"My Beloved, how can ye forsake me ?" Memories take root in the monsoon of tears, Crowding like thorn-tree barriers, For the tear-blinded eye no further can see Than the everyday viewpoint of reality -The half of truth that truly exists In the earth-body wherein the soul manifests.
Slowly, the mourner ponders the unending why All living things are doomed to die, Apparently cruel and useless fact That the writ of life is a death pact.
"My beloved's today shall be my tomorrow, Blowing the ashes of our marigolds of sorrow." Out of the space of wasted sighs,
So slowly, a great notion begins to rise
-Notion that securely persists
That beyond the half, the whole of truth exists.
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