Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Sky Clad (poem)
Sky Clad
When I was the Dalai Lama
they sang to me.
Their throaty voices,
their crying cymbals and gongs.
When the dancers turned
I left my throne and joined
for I too wished to know
such quivering
in the blood,
rapture of drum and horn.
In my peaked hat,
I held the rounded skull cup,
the gleaming wand of bone.
The conch shell
called the sky dwellers down,
mountain thunder
echoed across the peaks.
The gods heard and entered,
When I was the Dalai Lama
they sang to me.
Their throaty voices,
their crying cymbals and gongs.
When the dancers turned
I left my throne and joined
for I too wished to know
such quivering
in the blood,
rapture of drum and horn.
In my peaked hat,
I held the rounded skull cup,
the gleaming wand of bone.
The conch shell
called the sky dwellers down,
mountain thunder
echoed across the peaks.
The gods heard and entered,
pierced,
became who we were,
spirit forms lifted like feathered clouds
into the world above.
I led the way,
sky clad,
to that other realm.
What am I doing here
in this diminished form?
Dorothy Walters
June 24, 2008
became who we were,
spirit forms lifted like feathered clouds
into the world above.
I led the way,
sky clad,
to that other realm.
What am I doing here
in this diminished form?
Dorothy Walters
June 24, 2008
(Image from U. of Wisconsin-Milwaukee Libraries)
