Thursday, January 28, 2010
Betrothed (poem)
Betrothed
So at the end of the day, we give thanks
for being betrothed to the unknown . . .
John O’Donohue
However one looks at it,
it was not easy—
that bridal night,
mingling of self
and the unknown who appeared.
Everything took place
in secrecy and silence,
at the hidden center,
the core where presence
begins.
How do you mate
with something unseen?
Become one
with what has no form or name?
The days were filled with sweetness
and tumult,
nights so intense
that passion itself
became too pale a word.
The world unfolded
in endless celebration,
a constant feast to which
the heart said yes,
the spirit yearned.
Now, old lovers,
we live quietly,
sometimes meet
and nod in recognition,
remembrance of that special time,
when we no longer knew
who was lover, who beloved.
Dorothy Walters
January 27, 2010
(picture is a painting by Dante Gabriel Rosetti; photo by unknown photographer)
