Thursday, October 27, 2011
dark as coffee
She sat across the way,
smiling with a serene glow that seemed to emanate
from somewhere unknown,
and her graceful limbs were relaxed, calm.
From one moment to the next,
I see her shimmer--
old bark as dark as coffee.
Some would say there is no glow,
they see only rough, dry, scaly trunk,
yet shift perception and
see the light from within for it is always there,
the energy of Life that permeates everything around us,
each element portraying its own essence
shining through large or small.
the earth in Her feet, legs and torso, sturdy and obvious,
the water She retains deep within that we can see by way
of Her leafy green hair, slender to minimize evaporation,
the fire in Her warm skin and limbs,
the transformation of sunlight and Her vitality
even in the hottest summer when She conserves resources,
the air as She breathes and sways,
Her movement a dance as She grows and fills the space around Her.
Dark as coffee, she is chosen by the artist to create a tiny divine figure
polished to a mahogany hue,
the gentle curves become a woman,
Her spirit shining through
as the carver brings an image into form...Blessed Mother.
She is holding the key to compassion
that unlocks the door during the dark night of the soul.
A dark night that may be a fleeting moment or a lifetime
or are they one and the same?
Who can know for sure within this illusory life we seem to live
yet so much happens that we do not understand,
our senses limit us within their reach and
we can only guess through imagination and inner vision of Her Truth.
Ebony and ivory, living side by side and peace formed
through a symphony of rhythm and song
that reaches beyond the limits of time and space.
Our world orchestrated through our energies coming and going
or pausing to listen when another is singing.
Our world an incredible vibration of Life that soars and falls,
flows and builds, transforms in immeasurable diversity.
I am one and we are One.
Feeling the sadness of unknown origin flow through me
without getting stuck because I see it,
I feel the sticky fingers like a tree frog wanting to cling
to the sides of the twisted tree that grows to survive
yet allowing it to jump away--not stay--and then its life resumes
and the twisted limbs become beautiful in their shapes of survival
rather than frightened into a quagmire into which they could have fallen.
The tree frog, out of its natural element,
flies through the air for a moment without wings
and glories in his freedom to sit in the sun on the rock,
transforming into a lizard, basking, glowing,
while the Mesquite nearby rests,
crossing Her arms in a posture of peace,
gleaming with inner wisdom,
sharing shade in outer compassion,
Her bark as dark as coffee.
This was another writing prompt provided by Peggy Tabor Millin, ClarityWorks.