I Am not Here

My Child,

Tonight I read The Odyssey--
Book 11--
That trip to Hades
Some call hell
And I almost wept
For Odysseus
When he asked
His mother
Why he could not hug her
After not one but three attempts
And she said,
Basically,
Darling son, I am not here.
Where imagination meets spirit,
You are alone.
Your flesh feels it; your mind knows it:
My voice comes from your heart.
All that sacrificing,
Carving up those beautiful animals
For the gods and for your feast
And all that drinking of the blood of your victims
So that I might speak--
What do you think that is about?
Despite all your hard living, you cannot answer.
I will tell you:
It is in your living that you hear my voice;`
Take life in your two hands,
But be ready to let it go,
To turn back from everything you think you want
And remember what you love.

Go back, my dear.
Love who you love.
Forget this illusion.  

I am not here.

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