Acceptance

I [used to] think that
Acceptance
Was a synonym for Defeat

That the white flag of
Surrender
Meant giving permission for annihilation
By an enemy

So I fought
And fought and fought

And swore that I’d tear down the stars
And rearrange their atoms
Before I would bend or yield
To Reality

I’ll fight like hell, I thought smugly, I’m a fighter.

But when you fight like hell,
You win like hell

And as I clawed my way
The stars grew not nearer
And my vision darkened
Until I realized I was clawing through the mud
And had made my bed deep below the Earth

I stopped, trying to breathe [there is no air here there is no air]
And gave in to despair
And stopped fighting.

A Presence was there
Below the Earth
A Face gazing silently.

I railed and howled at Him,
Convinced He was the Engineer of my shattering
And was not enjoying it
But worse, was gazing stonily, still-faced, not caring
If I scattered like dust in the wind.

He continued gazing
I ran out of screams
Hoarse, parched throat, finally speechless.

He continued looking
Softly
Kindly [so much kinder than I expected]
And His eyes were not angry
Or (far worse) apathetic
But full of —
Just looking.
At me.

My deepest fear
Has been that the Silence
Is that of the Still Face
And I was shocked to discover
It was the Silence
Of a Friend who was sitting
And listening
Fully present to me.

I [often still] think that
Acceptance
Means defeat
But I am gradually learning that she
Is more like Attention

Curious and open
To this present moment
With all its joy [but oh, it won’t last]
And all its pain [but relief–it will pass]
Evanescent
Full to bursting
And all the while a Presence there
Gazing
Listening.

Sisyphus may make it to the top
Alive,
And smiling,
But his stone rolls ever backward
The futility of striving

I [want to] want the Way of the Passion
Defeat at the top of the hill
Aching, breaking,
Descent into the earth
Then bursting forth
In Resurrection –

“But please, please—won’t you—can’t you give me something that will cure Mother?” Up till then [Digory] had been looking at the Lion’s great front feet and the huge claws on them; now, in his despair, he looked up at its face. What he saw surprised him as much as anything in his whole life. For the tawny face was bent down near his own and (wonder of wonders) great shining tears stood in the Lion’s eyes. They were such big, bright tears compared with Digory’s own that for a moment he felt as if the Lion must really be sorrier about his Mother than he was himself.

“My son, my son,” said Aslan. “I know. Grief is great. Only you and I in this land know that yet. Let us be good to one another.”

– C.S. Lewis, The Magician’s Nephew