(Poetry) A Wisp of Air My Tears Shines Through

[ - from: THE RAGGED WRITINGS OF EVERLAND: Volume One: # 7;  8 ]

7. A Wisp of Air My Tears Shine Through

                                                                             

ENCASED WITHIN the travelled chest a treasure rare

Of un-pillaged plunder wrapped in coats of skins

The key the map the compass for the find were there

In Everland hid the fragrant heart at one with love

Script in sand engraved through fire in glass

Carried timeless in its purse, its secret fold of words

Engrafted life encoded there, in living jars of clay

As see-through as a wisp of air in nothingness clad

A stone was thrown and broken light spilled out

Of a perfect fashioner the hurt of every jar

How else escaped the light, that left buried deep would die

If scattered only by a tear it could forge of life its seal

Of each season borne the life produced twelve fruits

Green leaf in drought, up-springing joy in dearth

Living letters inscribed inside in every hue of gold

And shades of shadows left, went no more right through

Belts that tie the windless horn to its strength

Held in dust the captured message from the dawn of time

Bound in glory wrapped in living skins of hope

Cords of love the tie that kept the unfathomed dust afloat  

Within the sea of life the hidden script was laid

A sword to grind the jars their light in dust to leave

Pride lost, then on every hill a thing of freeing praise 

And the more did broken open letters fly in scrolls of flesh

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                        8. Unclouded Truth

FROM UNCLOUDED truth let my tears shine through 

Where the angel roses flower celestial bright

Where the rosebuds of a broken realm can rest

Rare blossoms where their hearts had dared

Pierced the inner rose by love in crystal drops  

From out of darkness where the light shines

Sight they find from blindness tinged with red

The truth from which every selfish heart is hid

Crushed the lilies by love’s most tender hand

Wide the fragrant places where their flower died

From pearled valleys steeped in grief they ran

This joy from which the untouched flower hides

End of night, let light from unknowing shine

From dawn love opens stooped to rightly hear

To comfort hearts that cry from all hurting places

Kind her hid surprise in truth’s slant circuit laid

Cached of love in safety from the prudent and the wise  

Turned upside down the truth she hid in secret places

That none might read to steal she buried light in darkness

Foolish faith not cleverness finds decrease delight

Of love’s own prism split the fragments of the light

Weighed in measures none could fathom truth’s surprise 

That in their going under babes could comprehend

And in their knowing nothing, find in loss the light

    
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Story 31.) Living on Another Plane of Life . . .

...from my new book:  A Circle of Swift Songs:

A Circlet of Inner Life Stories...  

A LONG, STEEP, UNSWEPT driveway with two hairpin bends in it, makes for a slow walk down it. It is slippery after rain; from long decayed leaves turned into earth. But because of walking slowly, I saw more. Near the bottom of the drive a sparrow suddenly flew up from beside me, carrying a thread-like strand of dry grass. I followed its flight. I saw it was making its nest in a tall rimu tree above the workshop at the end of the driveway. As I watched, the sparrow dropped the thread. I was fascinated: for he peered down, looking almost as if he were surprised and sad, at his loss. 

   My heart cried out to him, ‘We’re same! Oh, don’t be sad! Our ‘house,’ it will be built! We won’t stay perplexed!’ 

   The sun broke through the rain clouds: I knew there would soon be a new patch of serendipity blue to this heavenly walk here on earth that was all a gift. Unless our inner being, our house, by Life is built we labour in vain who build it. The sparrow flew down and began again; I continued my walk. 

   Everywhere I turned there was joy: for one after another all my difficulties and pain were being shown as pathways to the light. 

   Who would have thought that our problems could contain so great a treasure as could light for us a shining beacon in our dark, work for us a fountain of rejuvenation in our heart, and bring for us the gold of new life, all by revelation! Truly our problems are our gifts and poor is he who has not many in his life! 

   For it is only out of some necessity that an inner answering wisdom can come to us. No problem, no need for revelation. No dark, no need for light. When one light floods everything there is no need of any other: the stars shine only at night, their message not needed in daylight. 

   Where my entrenched thinking is, I think not to look for another way: Where I think I see, I see not, because I haven’t let go of what I think I have, for what I don’t know I haven’t. And so, hearing, I hear not, and neither do I understand! 

   Where was any joy in a patchwork quilt where all the patches were of one colour? Where is any joy in Autumn where there are no dying, falling leaves? There are no delights of stellar answers inside of me where there is no surrendered space for them in me!  I have no inner beauty where there has not been first some need of it! And truly, I do not know where I lack it!! So problems come to me as presents – present issues – to give me the means and the wherewithal to grow inside me the life I really desire! 

   Up above the sparrow sits on her eggs, but when they might hatch she doesn’t know. She cannot teach them when to hatch. So is, Life, caught, not taught! No one can teach me what I will not admit to needing; and no other teacher outside of me can know what it is I truly need and when I first need it. Life is spontaneous. So living in it is, too! 

   An inside tutor I have; one who is not afraid of me! For I do not like to learn the lessons I truly need - which can only be taught in the midst of me - because they don’t usually feel too good! People are basically lazy where inner growth is concerned. Therefore, problems are my best teachers: they are not afraid of offending me! They come rushing upon me, urging me onward, and pressing me in toward a new day - regardless of my bent feelings that I didn’t deserve them! For the gift, the present of their help, I need only to recognize their presence and not deny them heading for the easier option! 

   ‘Got a problem? That’s good!’ I would say to myself! ‘Oh, let me face it with confidence – upon another plane of life!’ 

   I will know a more joyful spring, for having had first a barren winter. It is death which works life! 

   All my bright buds of Day come from my long winter’s Night, and all their openings, in the fragile flowering of my tears; bringing with them the promise of a wonderful fruitfulness and a harvest just ahead of me. 

   In spring-time all the buds blossom: nature does nothing by halves!

                                      

   

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