Poetry, Life and Leadership #3

A keystone is defined as 'a central stone at the summit of an arch, locking the whole together.'

In a stone bridge, this is the central piece that lightly holds the structure together.

The Poem - February Morning by Niall Campbell.

The winter light was still to hit the window

And all my other selves were still asleep,

When, standing with this child in all our bareness,

I found that I was a ruined bridge, or one

that stood so long half-built and incomplete;

At other times I’d been a swinging gate,

A freed skiff - then his head dropped in the groove

Of my neck, true as a keystone, and I fixed:

All stone and good use, two shores and one crossing.

The morning broke, I kissed his head and stood.

A brief unfolding:

It's early morning, a soft safety and half-waking. The speaker in this liminal space has peace, away from 'all my other selves.' He is aware of the companionship of 'this child,' and their closeness, 'in all our bareness.' Bareness here feels like truth, vulnerability and tenderness.

In the presence of the child, the awareness deepens to a knowing of incompleteness, 'I was a ruined bridge,' half built,' 'incomplete' - there is promise that this child is the part that has been missing.

Scanning his life, he lifts up other images suggesting chaotic movement, a 'swinging gate' or 'a freed skiff,' both existing but not fit for purpose, in need of a latch or an anchor to come to stillness and safety.

Then quietly, the miracle of the line:

'- then his head dropped into the groove

Of my neck, true as a keystone, and I fixed:'

The incomplete bridge has been longing for the keystone and the stone has been longing for its place. Now reunited. The words 'drop' and 'groove' convey the rightness of this integration, and the image of a child's head falling towards the safety of a neck is universally felt. The sense of rest and relief is palpable.

In 'I fixed:' I choose to read this not portraying someone who was broken, but as someone who has the bravery and self-compassion to become whole. The choice of a colon suggests a beginning, a new chapter, a symmetry that can be built from, even the two points of a crossing.

'I kissed his head and stood,' shows the higher self welcoming the lost part of the child, now home and loved.

This is the most beguiling image of integration I have read. We all have parts which have been exiled as a result of our history, and they are all seeking to protect us. They do it clumsily, like 'a swinging gate,' manifesting in defensiveness, withdrawal, addiction, numbness, overwork or shame.

But all these parts need is for us to be still, become aware of their presence, their best intentions and then be welcomed home with an embrace. At the heart of these parts is our child, who ultimately only we can settle, in the wisdom that all is well.

What I am learning from 'February Morning':

1. An unfolding from our interior world is where true growth lies;
2. To be a freed skiff or a swinging gate is understandable and naturally human. The stability of being whole offers clarity and stillness in the eye of any storm;
3. Self-compassion is a key. Putting aside judgement of the behaviours and shadows we'd rather not be with, instead choosing curiousity and love;
4. Integration is in service of our growth as human beings and as leaders;
5. What else, what do you see?