What prevents your witness of this place
but the urges of your blood and all the drama that follows?
Here where the sun pours liquid, you pass by in a vision
captured by nature's dream of fitness and the raging of genes.
In and out of the still point you turn like dream warriors
reflected in your inner eye and in the stories you tell yourselves.
But past the end of the dance something waits still and serene
the quite moment when your water's been poured
but hasn't yet run down to the sea.
Here, there is no dance, no counterpoint, no singing in the wires
just a moment of freedom to commune with the sun's blessing
and to witness the rise and fall of the fields of flowers.
Time to see the dance and the singing as if for the first time
without the urge to spill yourself.
A time to witness the children's faces smiling new at that same beauty, before they begin, that you see, now that you are done. The puppy at play, the gentle wind in the grass, the light that can shine from an eye with love - be it animal, child or man.
That sweet blessing behind the play of forms, that beneficent something that embraces all of this coming and going, all the mystery and beauty. Oh, Beloved, carry my sweet Pythia away into your light, and blessed One, whisper to her her softly how well she was loved.
gallagher
17 Jun 07
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— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —
