In that oasis
Here for me.
I touch and hear
And smell and see
The essence of eternity.
Not by going far away
Nor by musing what sages say
But just by smoothing
My wrinkled brow
And soaking uo the perfect
Now!
O Silence!
Still my noisy mind.
Leave a while all cares behind.
Behold what is one with thee
This now, this pure
Eternity.
A haunting thought refuses
To be stilled, and with the thought
Comes an imagining, an unborn wish, perhaps,
That through a modern miracle
Of inner space, all people of our planet
Might appear once more upon the shore
Of Galilee, and listen.
Reality returns, at least in part
: We see again our peopled shore; we see
The Speaker as before, his voice the same,
With words of power to stem the coming tide,
With words to strengthen and to guide.
Oh, stay and listen!
Walking through morning grass
I left my mark:
a wake of stems crushed flat.
Of course, I meant no harm.
So often, life's like that,
and hopes get brushed aside,
feelings are hurt.
But the resilient grass
bore me no grudge.
By evening light,
the sun-absorbing blades
stood full upright.
I, too, can draw on strengths
beyond the seen
to spring up like the grass,
refreshed and green;
After some heedless word
or illwind blowing,
to reaffirm my faith
and keep on growing.
I find myself
thinking of you
when I run through
your sunflower forests,
for your joy of spring
makes me feel
eternally young.
I find myself
thinking of you
as your sunshine
touches my face,
for your warmth
deep within me
forever lights my path.
I find myself
thinking of you
when I am alone,
for your essence
is the sunlight
falling on my naked soul
soaring through
your meadows and mountains.
I find myself
thinking of you
as I lie awake at night,
for within the image
I have of you
are reflected
the wisdom and light
of the spirit
I need to know and love.
We are
Intricate beings comprised
Of countless trinities.
Each trinity
Is but a part
Of the great cantata
Of life.
The nineteenth century
Strings sing
Spirit, soul, body,
Mind, idea, expression.
The modern tympani bellows
Super ego, id, ego,
Neocortex, limbic, R-complex.
The ancient woodwinds whisper
Energy, light, form,
Thought, word, deed.
The timeless horns resound
Living, dying, rebirthing,
Old, young, eternal.
The heavenly conductor
Raps his baton
And the music
Is played as
Triunal man.
There is another part of me
That words cannot explain;
It is as if I seem to be
Here and on another plane.
And yet there is no part
Where I am not complete;
Where I end, I start,
Where I part, I meet.
I am the master of it all,
And yet the subject too.
I am the answer and the call,
Infinity, hidden from view.
