Dangerous (poem)

Dangerous,

the hidden rocks,

lying rough

below the surface.

Still I dive,

deep and deep,

Scraping tender flesh

across the unforgiving rocks.

Blood in the water.

Mine, or yours?

Deep and deep,

whose pain is this?

The poem above was written a few years ago, thinking about a childhood summer spent at a camp on Lake Champlain. We spent a lot of time swimming, and there were large rocks hidden beneath the surface of the water. Until you memorized where they were, you had to swim underwater to see them in advance, and avoid crashing into them. They scared me a bit, although I liked climbing up onto them and being able to sit or stand high up in the middle of deep water.

Remembering these rocks, I thought how they could stand as symbols of the hidden emotional triggers we can crash into within ourselves, especially if that territory is yet unexplored. And those crashes do create the experience of pain. And yet, how often when we feel discomfort or misery, and assume it is ours, is it actually not ours at all, but the pain of another we are tuning into, or the some random suffering floating around in the collective unconscious?