Thursday, March 08, 2018
Eight Ways the Flower Opens
Eight Ways the Flower Opens
You are entered
and ravished
by something
you cannot see.
Your body pulses
in pleasure and joy.
Finally you lie
on the earth, arms outstretched,
and say, "Here I am, take me,
I am yours."
You move slowly,
blossom gently kissed by rain.
You struggle cautiously
up the mountain,
wondering why
you are doing this,
if you should go on.
Someone has said
there are unicorns
and hanging gardens
up ahead
and so you
continue to climb.
You find teachers
who dispense universal wisdom.
They lead you,
give you things to do.
Sometimes you touch
their hems in gratitude,
receive their blessings.
You scour old texts,
examine ancient scrolls.
You look carefully,
certain that the secret is there,
the guide to the buried treasure
waiting to be found.
You are a skeptic and see
that the others are bewitched
by a comforting trance,
myths to sustain
in an uncertain world.
You remain alone in your tower of truth,
and know that you are braver, wiser,
more enlightened than the rest,
for you have seen through
to where nothing is.
Then one day something happens,
some kind of light
pierces the darkness
and everything changes
forever.
do it your chosen way,
paintings and dancing,
music and poems,
trees that sing to you,
the crashing of waves
at the shore.
Something unknown
directs your movements,
you are led by an invisible guide
into the realms of the subtle raptures.
Finally a voice speaks to you within.
You pause and listen.
You arrive somewhere,
know that this is the place
you have been seeking
for so long.
Your crown opens and
you scan the landscape
with new eyes.
Everything dazzles
illumined by an inner sun,
you know that you are nothing,
all is one.
People call you a saint
or a savior.
You wonder how this
could be.
You return
to the foot of the mountain,
again struggle upward
over the rubble and scree,
pilgrim among pilgrims,
help others
as best you can.
Dorothy Walters
March 7, 2018
