The Transverberation of Saint Theresa

Barefoot on a balcony she sang
I am!
And the amber meadows sang
I Am!
And the purple mountains sang
I AM!
And the sky (as if waking from an etherized dream) sang
I AM YOU TOO!
Baptized in Infinite Singularity,
Now she knew.

…
But tell me, Saint Theresa,
When it’s time to wash the sheets,
When ecstasy turns to laundry,
And your “Now” is just another spin cycle,
Do you still hear the singing sky?
…

There are times, Mr Prufrock,
When ragged claws scuttle me (gasping) to the seabed.
There, in the lullaby of the seaweed dances,
Downy drowsy drowny death
Washes over me.

In those times, Mr Prufrock,
I am a heartbroken Ophelia,
Unheard, still here.
Looking up through the watery lens,
Unheard, still here.
Searching the sky,
Unheard, still here.
Dim and distant,
For just a glimmer,
Unheard, still here.
Unheard, still here.
The urgency of my beating heart
Transverberates my ears
And I remember.

In those times, Mr Prufrock,
I have a choice to make:
To suffer slings and arrows,
Or to face my stuttering fears
(No, no, not now!)
And rise above my sea of troubles.
And I remember now…
I once squeezed the universe into a ball.
I am Lazarus come from the dead.
Rising in a flurry of bubbles to the surface,
I am not drowned - I know NOW!