Friday, May 18, 2018
Wakers––poem by Dorothy
Wakers
When some awake,
they arrive at a specified place.
It has objects, boundaries,
things waiting to greet them,
things with names.
When they rise
they walk with assurance
into the next room
outfitted with cups and saucers
and provisions to eat.
They have established schedules and are ready
to accomplish things.
Others awaken
and are not sure
where they are.
Nothing seems familiar
and they wonder
why they are there.
Vague memories still linger
of the night dream world,
or of past existences
in other settings and realms.
The are not sure how they got here
or why.
They sense they are in contact
with something they can't
quite name,
but they know it is important.
They are certain they have a purpose
but its instructions are not completely clear.
This is often the path
of the mystic and saint,
the invisible ones
whose quiet contemplations
and radiant creations
save the world.
Dorothy Walters
May 7, 2018
