Kundalini Splendor

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Tuesday, January 09, 2007

Like the Hidden Mountain Columbine (poem) 

Like the Hidden Mountain Columbine

Is the soul solid like iron?
Or is it tender and breakable, like
the wings of a moth in the beak of the owl?
Mary Oliver

Is the spirit hard and impenetrable
like andradite or a chunk of fallen sky?
Or is it fluid like silt
at the bottom of a departed river,
or silk soothing the thighs
of an ancient dancer before the king?

Is it loud, like cymbals clashing
in front of a procession
heralding a hero’s return . . . .
Or is it timorous and shy,
the notorious violet withdrawn
or the hidden mountain columbine . . . .

Does it go swaggering abroad daring the sunlight,
dazzling onlookers with its sheen,
or does it come creeping out at candlelight
furtively searching for the love it needs . . . .

This spirit, its cloak diaphanous or close woven,
how strange it is,
how enfolded in its

Dorothy Walters
January 8, 2007
San Francisco

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