The Presence
You cannot name it,
you cannot see it,
you cannot hold it in your arms.
It has no weight or measure,
no identifying marks.
Poets laud it,
artists strive to model it,
musicians hear it
in their ears.
Dancers and planets whirl to its
rhythms,
astronomers scan the skies.
Searchers in laboratories
seek in vain for its elements,
wise men write tomes.
Temples cannot hold it,
ceremonies cannot unveil it,
incantations cannot
bring it down.
It hides in scents and elsewhere,
plants unfolding like blessings,
animals calling in the night.
Yet you will know it when it
comes,
the Lover who touches you
alive.
It chooses its own time
to appear,
and vanishes whenever it likes.
Its unsung song is with you ever,
vibrating in your veins.
You call it the Beloved Within
and yearn for its secret caress.
When you die you will go
to join it
and become part of that which it is.
Dorothy Walters
August 22, 2017
(image from internet)