Kundalini Splendor

Giving Thanks At The Turning Of The Seasons

At times I’ve imagined that there lived a little
man, a gnome, that having awakened from his
quarterly nap, rubbed his eyes, and from his
underground hollow festooned with oak
leaves and prayer grottos, tugged upon a rope
that shifted a huge gear and so transformed
the bewildering heat of Indian  summers into
crisp fall mornings where persimmon trees
started dropping their orange leaves as they
offered us the perfect gift of their seasonal fruit.

Then I remembered the earth’s tilt, and the
predictable gambit of light and dark and our
planet’s precise distance from the star at the
center of our galaxy that sustains humans,
the curious fruits of this corner of the cosmos.
And I reflected upon the scientists revealing
these machinations and remembered that,
somehow, even those sober physicists with
skinny black ties, knew that the whirling of
moons and seasons and galaxies were a part
of some great ongoing feast, and that this
turning should be called the Milky Way.

And that gnome living under this hallowed
earth is the gatekeeper who, like us, lives
between the bewildering questions of this
world and the open arms of a great loving
mother who feeds so many, but not all of
us. So this prayer of thanksgiving comes
with a caveat.

- Bruce Silverman