A Softening
A Softening
Let it, and it can happen.
My heart, steadily hardened
through years of resentment,
maybe for some good reasons,
is slowly beginning to soften.
Several days ago,
I attended a funeral
held in an old cathedral,
where I began to notice
the beautiful stained glass,
the vaulted roof timbers,
and ornately painted ceiling,
along with all the embellishments
calling me toward a place
of alluring tranquility.
Spending time in nature
accords me similar feelings,
but being in that basilica
gave me pause to think
of my relatives and ancestors
who spent their lives in church,
perhaps one of the few places
in which it was possible for them
to transcend their difficult lives
and go on living each day.
This church or their churches
may not hold the absolute truth,
but at times it probably offers
a glimpse of the same mystery
which leads me to the equanimity
where I can write this poem today.
The end of confession is to tell the truth
to and for oneself.
~ J. M. Coetzee
