Tuesday, December 07, 2010
The Saint Tries to Return
The Saint Tries to Return
I could, of course, put
a mark
on my forehead
(and don’t think
I wouldn’t like
to do this)
or I might wander
about in a robe
of saffron
or maroon
(and never believe
I wouldn’t wish
to clothe myself this way).
I could stand beneath
a tree
and recite ancient verses,
give blessings as
someone with strange eyes
fondles a flute
or a stringed instrument
nearby
(and I would do this gratefully,
indeed I would.)
I could infuse the crowd
with sweetness,
love energy
from God
and watch them cry out,
fall to the ground.
Now I have silence,
sometimes these words,
dream passages
from that other world
that I say to myself
at night.
Shanti, Shanti, Shanti.
Dorothy Walters
December 7, 2010
(I wrote this poem earlier tonight while I was waiting for a spiritual speaker to begin his talk.)
(Image from http://wearabout.wordpress.com)
