Post by jeannerené on Jan 18, 2008 21:27:10 GMT -8
this scent of pine and meditation
Aside
these boughs twined of firefly lights,
baubles merriment and jubilee,
now lost in this scent of pine and candle wax
I assemble,
my thought
my sense. . . my wit about me.
My meditation
impels me,
close my eyes.
Bids me listen
to the thunder . . . this voice soundless.
Commands me
seal my eyes,
pause and inhale this singular breath.
. . . pause and inhale this singular breath.
Know me as I cup your lips to mine,
I release my word and swell your lungs,
in your waking . . . in your slumber.
I am the only current,
at once, the same, high and retiring tide.
. . . quiet . . . listen
I am this rise and this descent,
holding nothing from your seasons.
I am ever the seeding,
ever the harvest,
birth and death absent.
. . . quiet
I distinguish no celebration
for I am consistent in my bounty.
I credit nothing to your translations,
or tongues,
your histories, or crusades
I am undivided . . .
absolute.
. . . wordless
Close your eyes.
Hear,
I am the name of the child gone before you,
after you
and standing beside you. . .
the child whose hand you seek.
In my rumination, this Christmas come,
midst song and celebration I find,
lids sealed,
. . . in the hush, the whisper of the only breath,
You are my primary colors,
the mixing of my forest and heaven,
the paints of my red soil and dazzling sun.
You are the blending of all hues and textures,
the threads of our kente,
the fine stitch of our quilt . . .
the laugh of the baboon,
the leap of the gazelle.
And you are . . . simply present,
ever waiting
for us to exhale . . . . .
.jeannerene.
Aside
these boughs twined of firefly lights,
baubles merriment and jubilee,
now lost in this scent of pine and candle wax
I assemble,
my thought
my sense. . . my wit about me.
My meditation
impels me,
close my eyes.
Bids me listen
to the thunder . . . this voice soundless.
Commands me
seal my eyes,
pause and inhale this singular breath.
. . . pause and inhale this singular breath.
Know me as I cup your lips to mine,
I release my word and swell your lungs,
in your waking . . . in your slumber.
I am the only current,
at once, the same, high and retiring tide.
. . . quiet . . . listen
I am this rise and this descent,
holding nothing from your seasons.
I am ever the seeding,
ever the harvest,
birth and death absent.
. . . quiet
I distinguish no celebration
for I am consistent in my bounty.
I credit nothing to your translations,
or tongues,
your histories, or crusades
I am undivided . . .
absolute.
. . . wordless
Close your eyes.
Hear,
I am the name of the child gone before you,
after you
and standing beside you. . .
the child whose hand you seek.
In my rumination, this Christmas come,
midst song and celebration I find,
lids sealed,
. . . in the hush, the whisper of the only breath,
You are my primary colors,
the mixing of my forest and heaven,
the paints of my red soil and dazzling sun.
You are the blending of all hues and textures,
the threads of our kente,
the fine stitch of our quilt . . .
the laugh of the baboon,
the leap of the gazelle.
And you are . . . simply present,
ever waiting
for us to exhale . . . . .
.jeannerene.
