Monday, June 24, 2013

The Intimated Altar

The one who entered the spiral begins at last to descend. Daisies call to him. And roots. He hears the dragonfly settle under the maple tree. He is ready now to return.

Stars are lovelier, and the moon. She shines on us, east and west, and the blessing enters at our shoulders. The blessing enters our heart. We leave the offering at the intimated altar and walk back into the forest. Later we hear bells and praying and it calls us to walk home, bringing our own song.

The one who gives - who made it past doubt - becomes the teacher now. He studies the earth for her tracks and settles easily in behind her. The sentences suggest a meeting in time but these lovers are wedded to what is outside time and not of the body. He crosses rivers, scales ridges, and stops at no temple. In pastures he bends to catch the scent of the long-gone rain and is reminded of her: and what is.

You love me: and I love you: and it is finished. We make tea and share it with everyone who passes. When it snows, we lay the snow aside in blowsy sheaves, and wait on cardinals and squirrels. Faith is as faith does. We learn as we go, together.

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