In 1989 or 1990, a friend wrote a poem for me. It was written soon after I met Amma, but prior to the time I asked Amma for a name. So at that time my name was Carol. That name seems so unfamiliar to me now.
Her poem came into my mind the other day; for the first time in decades. I was able to find the booklet it was published in.
THE COURAGE TO BELIEVE, FOR CAROL POOLE
The pot looked empty. It was a clay pot, orange and cracked from the rain. On Mondays people came to fill it and the water, somewhat yellowed, seeped out at the bottom.
At first I wondered why they didn’t patch it. But looking closely, I saw their need to bend slightly to the right. Some called it agility, but really they were trying to keep their hands on the hole.
Now you choose a jug, and songs arise from its clay. And in the rhythms of drums from inside, the moon-roundness of it takes on the form of a woman with the courage to believe.
The jug is round and smooth, and the water is always full.
Thank you Shelley. Your poem means as much to me today as it did the first time I read it. I hope our paths cross again some time in the future.