by Mei-Mei Berssenbrugge
I fear one stray word is more powerful than my child’s vitality.
But not speaking can send out huge, mutated thought forms.
It’s foolish to hate a quarrel, forgetting the forces of creativity.
The energy of consciousness and of matter still continue,
absorbing those elements that seemed to me destructive.
The energy of a word is little understood.
Without force, symbol lacks motility.
Context, language, value are terms for a web of patterns within
the attractor field.
Turbulence, emotional upset can increase to a new harmonic.
I don’t force my perceptions upon her to whom I speak.
I don’t speak through the family member as through a telephone.
There’s psychological extension, a projection of each one’s
characteristics, which we use to communicate.
It’s as if I were writing for an immaterial audience, yet I know the
Openings through which words seem to disappear connect my
self I know with you reading, a symbol coming alive.
Then I am acted upon, attuning to force; my desire to be moved
is as strong as desiring peace.
Another’s energy turns my personality out to the material, which
my own emptiness had secured.