Catching Every Falling Cup, A Primal Urge

A Poem and a Promise

Primal Swimming by Anthony Grootelaar

Brimless Being

Sharp edges, sharp endings, things
that shatter like teacups on tiled floors,
hurt feelings, resentments, things that
bind like too-tight shoes. Let them go.

All that doesn’t fit hand in glove,
the not-me’s, not-us, the no’s and
nevers, let it all go. It never was nor is.
These negations of the positive, like

The negatives of photographs, or
shadows of trees, are what trail
behind and never touches,
never stains. Pay it no mind.

It will be what it will be when
looking askance, outside ourselves.
We’ll never find what’s real there.
Instead, let all sharp edges and endings

Dissolve into such lush spaciousness
that every falling cup is caught
with soft hands. And filled to the brim
with brimless being.

By Deborah J. Brasket, October 2021

This reminder, or promise, to “catch every fallen cup” with “soft hands” has become a mantra I’ve turned to often since writing this poem.

This happens sometimes when writing poetry. A phrase will swim up from some primal depth, like a gift or some pressing urge—a fuzzy felt-sense of something that wants to be known, and, in the writing, becomes clearer, although not fully plumbed. Thus it returns, as if it has more to teach.

It means different things to me at different times. Sometimes it’s a reminder to let go of the sharp things within myself, to soften my approach to life, to other’s sharp edges.

Sometimes it connotes a deep desire to save things that seem to be lost, fallen, ready to shatter—to hold them gently in our hands, our minds, and cherish everything good about them so much they become full to overflowing.

Other times it seems to suggest catching every moment before it disappears and just holding it gently in our awareness, feeling its fullness, its “lush spaciousness” to such a degree that the moment stills and becomes its own kind of forever unending.

Doing this when it’s still and quiet is like stepping into a pool and swimming luxuriously through it. Steeping ourselves in every sound, texture, color, scent of that still moment—breathing it all in.

Trying to do so in those harried moments when you’re full of feeling—perhaps stressed, anxious, in a hurry and rushing around—is harder. But even then, the attempt to do so creates its own magic. Even as everything around you is in a rush, the moment slows and softens as the mind merges with its surroundings, savoring its suchness. That moment melts into the next in a never-ending stream. Nothing is lost. All remains full.

Me, you, our lives, each passing moment—We are the cup that must be caught with soft hands and filled to the brim with brimless being. That’s the urgent need.