Transmutation

Alone now, quiet.
Depression seeps in.
Pain renewed, raw.
A dark, forlorn, void makes itself known.
A void of desperation and vacancy,
loss, rejection, abandonment,
fueled by dark recollections.

Voids want to be filled.
I am hungry, voracious for love,
but this craving is unquenchable.
I devour but find no satisfaction.
Like a container with a leak,
even if I am filled to the brim,
the love quickly dissipates.
Like a junkie seeking another fix,
I soon crave more.

This void cannot be filled.
It can only be transmuted
by a Presence that stands steady;
quietly waiting and noticing.
The void becomes spaciousness,
a grandeur that wants nothing.
An emptiness not afraid of itself.
I do not fear this space;
I rest in it, quietly released.