2015 12 13
Swirling on wings of desire for long life
inside small temple of my skull, I am
not just me, but all my ancestors wake
through struggle of existence to breathe light
of wordless beauty beaming from all things
inside this clumsy shell of aching hope.
So my conscious awareness of myself
as hungry organism who swims forth
through seething sea of atoms far transcends
this little corpse that nourishes my soul,
that brief flicker of love which glows an hour
in vast infinite abyss of blind death.
Truth needs no assertion of argument
nor continuous loud preaching to maintain
faith of belief, so believe what remains
after prophetic visions dissipate,
for wind on river tells us what is real
by reflecting vision our eyes invent.
So we carry candles and wear white robes
and walk together slow in silent woods,
singing secrets that we hide in our names,
to cross threshold into temple of light
with sublime joy that we are still alive
when stars shimmer through pine trees at midnight.