November fall
November
this Fall
this horrible disaster
the obscene presentability of it
as if snuck in by treachery
and recognised too late
too late uncovered
sudden
and with nothing left
but to perceive it
take it in
as if spectacularly delivered coup de grace
this fall
with all that’s being said
it’s at the same time maddeningly casual
it’s almost
as an afterthought
of hopeless, endless struggle
which, I suppose, just makes it worse
just only makes it worse
the struggle
I acknowledge, is imagined
is in my head
at least for me
but am I the only one?
it’s in my head and yet it feels so real
it’s made so much more shameful and disgraceful by the fact
that there are battles, real battles raging out there
perhaps, to some,
so seemingly abstract,
so much remote
and yet so much more real than the dark night of the soul
one soul
any soul
one single soul
this does not help, I know
this just brings up confusion, disappointment, disarray,
and
more often than it doesn’t — it brings whisper
whisper saying
encouraging
‘Let go!’
‘Let go!’
‘Let go completely,
Let go and fall away!’
embrace, the whisper says,
inevitable, as it puts it,
shift from quest for Grace to Fall from Grace
embrace the sight of purpose lost,
the fingers ready to let go
the fingers numb from effort, body losing strength,
embrace the Presence felt no longer,
Presence felt no more
‘Roll’, it says, ‘just be okay with nothing making sense…’
‘…and simply have it, face it as a fact this Fall.’
this fall, it says…
the fall through time
through space
past your convictions, and attachments, people you hold dear,
‘Look at the leaf’, it says,
therein you might just find a hint of truth,
the leaf,
detached, suspended in mid-flight,
yet beautiful
against the backdrop of the red, and gold, and the gunmetal blue
the leaf detached from meaning
what was that exactly now? I snap to
in, as is my custom, so many words,
I have described the feeling of extinction,
well, of whom?
is that not obvious?
one hasn’t guessed?
well, of myself of course
better said — of self
almost familiar
almost predictable
it comes and goes in waves
more often stays a while — we converse
it lingers, has bad table manners, wouldn’t go away
so perfectly familiar
by now
for me
so intermingled, almost comforting to me
this Fall
this fall from Grace
this fall of sewered leaf through space
so commonplace in fact
that I have considered
to make peace with it
and God sees I tried
but it’s demanding, never satisfied
prevents the sleep, the creativity, well…
lays a claim to life itself
presents in fact
a full list of demands:
it wishes illness, posturing, lies and pretence,
but what’s it’s bent upon
is a finality
in that last final sense of the word
that’s what the whisper is
it’s bent on the submitting to the Fall
it’s in this sense horrifically inhumane
and at this stage
- I hate to say
hold on,
why hate?
why put it like that?
well
because it’s not by way of my own choice, suppose
quite on the contrary
the lack thereof
I would, perhaps, if given agency, have chosen other way
but it is not, as I discovered,
well, at least not fully,
up to me
me, humble me, I have to realise and appreciate
that deep whithin,
as grudging, and resentful, prideful, and spiteful as I am,
I have to bow down,
beat my breast and to admit
the fact
the recognition
that what I’m dealing with
the fact I can’t dismiss,
that what I face
in every step I take
in every line I do
in every drink I down or make
for others
indeed, in every mistake I make
the leafs I crush under my feet during a walk in park
in my despair, my rage, self-pity, my disgrace
no matter how hard do I try to help it -
there is is Grace,
that what I was graced with from beginning,
what my transgressions cannot seem to shake
is Grace, almost banal, so simple
gracelessly, proactively at work
at darkest graceless place
by Grace, if only I believe,
I will be saved
no matter what I do,
no matter what I try,
it stays — hard as the hardest simple fact
like concrete
as the whisper, it persists
remains
well, there you have it,
Grace at work
I just spoke, at length too, of despair
- that should offset, that should qualify,
the statement
that I,
in some meaning, but, get me, only just in some,
would hate to say that I am still alive,
although, and here no joking comes,
quite seriously,
I do not know how or why,
would wonder, really, how or why
and I have to admit it,
at times I had this thought:
- better be dead but be just without
the whisper I described,
the whisper of the Fall
well
is there a possibility of other outcome?
will it ever end,
this fall from Grace,
the fucking Fall?
if death is not an option,
if it’s not a given, what remains?
the madness I suppose,
yet is that so different
to graceless struggle day to day
of one once blessed
of one once led
protected, guided by the Grace
I am as I am:
bewildered, disillusioned, broken, weak,
yet
lo and behold!
still left
with option to surrender
without an option to give in
how did I fucking end up here like that
it’s pretty neat,
I mean, one has to dig the trick
and this is where I am
it’s neither here nor there
yet even I can appreciate
Grace playing it’s scenario
at the unimaginable darkest place
it all comes down to this
it all resolves
or tries to anyway
as ashes
which try, convincingly enough
to mascarade as snow
on last day of November in Berlin
this fall
the day, as all the others
not devoid of Grace
- if one would only care to look
this fall
—
November 2023, Berlin
