Saturday, August 20, 2016
Two Meditative Poems
imagined us into existence.
That something was
very loving, very wild,
very explosively given to
extravagance and elegance,
profusion and color,
yet so gentle that It knew
exactly how much to breathe
into the fire of life
without burning us all to cinders.
Imagined into existence,
we are here, duty bound
to imagine ourselves back to
whose nature must take imagination
as the earth takes wind
for the circulation of its ideas.
I will imagine myself back into
the bosom of that Something
that made me
as a wind-wisp,
as a pink cloud from the most glory-stainedsunset, imaginable.
I have been knocking at this gate
my whole life,
knocking, knocking, so long
that my knuckles have worn
a hole through the wood,
and sometimes, if I stand
just right, I can see bits of light
coming from the other side.
I am afraid to put my eye
to the hole I have made by my knocking.
It is like looking
directly into the sun.
So I step back and keep knocking
making the entrance a little larger
with each knock,
with each prayer for understanding,
with each thirst
for what lies beyond the gate,
beyond this world.
I must wait respectfully
for the gatekeeper
to answer my summons,
though the temptation to batter
through the hole I have made is strong.
I would risk blindness,
in the world beyond the gate,
if I did not already hearthe footsteps of the gatekeeper.
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