Prayer to Unbind Words of the Past
I am an avid journal keeper; writing is my way of discovering what I’ve learned, where I’ve been. And so, as you might guess, my home suffers an infestation of old grocery boxes full of spiral-bound, hard-bound, and loose-leaf books containing the ephemera of my life.
Now, for those of you who journal, whether you clack your feelings out online or pen them in the old fashioned way, you know that closing a journal and moving on to a new one can be a difficult thing - especially when the spent journal covers a period of your life that was, shall we say, not exactly Valentine’s Day card material.
But sometimes, closing a journal - giving it a little goodnight kiss and putting it to sleep - is simply not enough. Sometimes, we need to rip it up, torch it, and bury the ashes!
What follows then, is a poem (incantation, actually) I wrote for just such an occasion long ago. I used it as part of a day-long ritual in which I did different phases of the ritual at morning, noon, and evening and actually burned a paper journal.
Prayer to Unbind Words of the Past
On the edge of my fear, this is dawn when
I will tear each page from its past-braided binding;
may this language unmoored never again mend itself into a
wholeness of pronouncements which holds me secure yet ever imprisoned
On the edge of my trust, this is the rising hour when
I will give these rent pieces to fire under a half-eyed morning moon;
may these words sacrificed to the sun never again rise up
to burn my unspeaking throat with their splintered cinders
On the edge of my hope, this is the eventide when
I will bury these ashes at the door of an Oak on a high blue hill;
may this blackened dust never again offer its stained tongue
to pollute the place where my clearest voice should sing
On the edge of my bed, tonight is the night when
I will lay myself to sleep without a word, without a pen, without a book;
may the cold Moon which turned the pages of that old despair
give way to a compassing Sun tracking an arc in a new blank sky
Oh Elizavetta,
I confess, save a few pages torn from the book and protected with fresh tears, I have burned all my journals. Too much turmoil and tragedy, not enough freedom of movement in those words, I couldn’t let them sit and taunt me.
In soft harmony, it is time for me to start a new journal. In letting the old one go, perhaps I shall be more generous in my release. Such a gesture deserves a prayer, and your words are so wise. Fire destroys the paper only, and while purifying, I know a conscious farewell is much more powerful.
Thankyou for sharing this potent prayer with a soul standing on that edge.
Dearest Elizavetta,
I have burned several, turned them to ashes, erasing what torment those pages contained. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to remember, we always remember don’t we? But I needed to let it go, because if I didn’t, my soul would be trapped in those words held tight between the covers.
Others I’ve saved. Maybe because I couldn’t let that part of me go, or what those words represented, but I never look at them again once I’ve finished a journal. In fact, I just picked up a new one. It’s a lovely green with a dragonfly emblazoned on the cover and imprinted on each page. The binding has a texture of rough stone, and there’s a long white silk bookmark to serve as my placeholder.
Yes, by a woman’s hand…
Thank you for your incantation. I shall save it for my next burning, tho I don’t think I’ll be burning any more of my words. The universe often has a strange way of putting us right where she wants us, doesn’t she.
With love,
nina
Magdelena,
Burned all your journals? Oh my. You are disciplined! I don’t think I could do that. But yes, a conscious farewell is the most powerful. And, as I know from experience (which includes failure), that does often take a will of iron.
I wish you courage as you stand on that edge.
Nina,
We always remember - yes, indeed we do. But, as a famous Queen once said, we are not bound to forever recall the entire horror of each moment, provided we don’t make a memorandum of it.
I hope your new dragonfly journal ushers in the beginning of a wonderful journey. It’s nice to think that burning might not be needed anymore. Fire is such a trickster of an element.
[...] Elizavetta of Vespertine Erotica has a post up called Prayer to Unbind Words of the Past which is about how we surrender our handwritten journals from this world to the next[...]
From the ashes of a burnt confession risesthe expression of a new truth. Oh… I’m sounding so cryptic, my darling, but please know that I understand. Your ritual and the words that seamlessly encase it are both moving and an inspiration to me.
Thank you, with love,
orchidea xxx
orchidea,
… from the ashes of a burnt confession. Yes, that was very much the idea I had in mind when I created that ritual and the poem. And cryptic or not, I’m happy you found a connection with this.