These days I find myself speaking,
In a most Tender, Loving voice,
To plants and trees, rocks and soil,
To clouds and mist, to moon and stars,
As if those things could hear my words,
And know of my Loving Affection.
I confess to concern regarding my sanity,
And the Foolish old man I’ve become,
Tears streaming, unprompted by thought,
Spontaneous, a flood Uncontainable,
At the drift of a cloud, at branches swaying,
Or the feel of the earth beneath my feet.
I noticed the onset of Love’s Insanity,
When a beloved friend passed recently,
And the Affection in which I held them,
Being no longer watered by their presence,
Did not wither and die from that lack,
But sent roots outward, to All That Is.
Within, this Love sent roots, as well,
Beneath the shallow soil of “who” I am,
To the deepest Interiority of “what” I am,
And Blossomed there, at the Heart of Being,
As an Affection, near Unbearable,
For the simple fact of existing.
Thankfully, no one has witnessed me,
Whispering Thankfulness to a fallen leaf,
Or I would surely be locked away,
And, gazing out an asylum window,
Would tear up at the incredible Beauty,
Of paint peeling on the window sill,
And the Quality of evening Light…
Upon All that Is.
www.facebook.com/InTheGardenOfTheBeloved
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