Kundalini Splendor

The Lives of the Saints

I am thinking how it must have been
to be a saint,
those opened ones
who talked with god each hour
and did not turn away
to have felt something--
a small stirring much like love--
flow perpetually within
delicate salutation
constant confirmation of the felt unseen
and then more:
to actually behold what they call the Invisible Real
the unfathomable made manifest
to hear those syllables voiced aloud
whispers of consolation and concern
and even the wounds that came
inexplicable
the mystery coming down like a careless lover
leaving bright tokens of its flame
and always the ceaseless longing
the part we others are allowed to know
even as we approach and then draw back
come close and retreat once more
in terror of revelation
frozen in our sea of fear.

copyright, Dorothy Walters