Journey

Chris Brundage 11-12-01

Oh my, my,

     Glorious Sun, old friend,

     In these days when you shorten your stride

     And return the sooner to your nightly realm,

     Even on mornings such as this

     When the earth and all which grows from it

     Sleep peacefully,

     The hillsides do glisten,

     Aglow with countless dewdrops

     Proudly bearing up what they might capture of your brilliance.

But soft,

     A question pulls at me

     As I journey down this path,

     Bidding me pause among these cooled and hardened places

     And to call upon your ancient wisdom,

     Your ancient light.

     Tell me the secret the ground keeps here,

     As the cold wind swirls in wild dance,

     Coaxing flame-colored leaves from their gray summer seats.

Tell me, old friend,

     What mystical touch the Priestess has bestowed

     Upon this small patch of hillside earth.

     What place is this where the chill of Autumn's embrace

     Offers such cold comfort

          To the left, to the right,

          But not here in the center?

And what, dear Sun,

     Of this bud before me now?

     What of this beautiful rose

     Whose heart I pray may open anon

     As the morning proceeds, as your light shines on?

In this moment she reveals little

     But what shall such a bud become if not a rose?

     Alight her, dear friend,

     And tell me if you will:

     What is it which has nurtured this bud?

     Whence comes the warmth to sustain it?

     Whence the desire to reach up from the sleeping earth

     Here to stretch open her delicate petals beneath my gaze?

And there, old Sun,

     What of that melody now drifting toward me?

     A chorus of heavenly messengers from somewhere within

     Now call this bud to its completion.

     Inspired, I too offer encouragement

     As I immerse myself in the fluid passion of inner scents.

     For here, before her velvet skin may delight the touch

     A subtle fragrance rises up to stir my heart.

Now please, wise friend,

     Guide me that I might not bring harm - -

     Desire calls out in a soft shudder

     Coursing through me like a gentle quake on a vast plain.

     Oh my ancient friend, bring your profound wisdom to bear

     And tell this Journeyman how - -

     How to keep this blessed stem close to my heart

     Without first removing it from the ground which sustains it?

Show me, as you incline,

     With the light of ancient wisdom,    

     In this quiet place where I've lost myself

     And too, have been found,

     How might I cherish this bud and honor the soul of her?

     For though the bud itself, its very purpose to be desired,

     Bids me draw closer,

     I ask you what would she gain from my clumsy embrace

     Or my adolescent admiration?

I see, old friend,

     By the light of your truth

     That here beneath the bud a single petal

     Readies itself to part from its core and fall to the earth.

     Perhaps my moment here may as yet find its purpose.

     This petal, then, shall travel on with me

     And in the pocket of my blouse it will remain close to my heart.

And when on dark days in cold and damp corners I may huddle

     I shall but look on this frail petal and recall

     The bud,

     The fragrance which stirred my heart,

     The melody of heavenly inspiration,

     The shudder of desire sprung from a cold hillside

Somewhere on my Journey passed.