by Elizabeth Reeke
Full-laden, ripe milky lilac,
Softly each petal nestles.
They told me it couldnt be so;
One cannot learn, or see, or remember
by touch of heart alone.
They spoke of Truth
with their minds book of principles;
but they heard not your song.
And so, in tears, I left you;
I ran away before the blossom opened.
My journey, your journey, began before the dawn of the centuries,
beyond the snow fields,
beyond the beat of the drum,
before the first stirrings of our bodies.
It began in the heart of hearts,
here in the secluded garden,
here in the light of the shining star,
here at the doorstep to the soul.
It is the future that has been with us from all time;
the gift of life that dwells in the blazing eye of the volcano,
in the penetrating gaze of the ageless skull,
and in the still presence upon the sacred mountain.
It is a future that streaks through the skies like a comet spanning the worlds, yet
dwells now within each of us,
setting a path towards the abode of the new moon.
It is the inner vision that guides the flight of the solitary bird,
reveals the trail of the wise ones across the mountains,
and shines through the misty fogs rolling in from the sea.
It nurtures the brilliant colors of the rainforests,
and it fashions the unfoldment of the golden chrysalis.
A single dewdrop glistens,
with the climbing sun the blossom quivers
and beckons me once again.
Outside my window the redbird sings.
Copyright © 2011 by Elizabeth Reeke.