White Worded Out - You, You...

[Guest guest]

Dear Friends,

 

 

~"How long will I keep talking of up and down?

This is not my home: silence, annihilation, absence!

I go back where everything is nothing."~

 

~Rumi~

 

 

 

 

White Worded Out - You, You...

 

 

There are purist criteria white, white falcons

rising above and crossing Mount Fuji, and, of course,

Kilamanjaro is meant for a backdrop to an Arctic bird

soaring. How, one might ask, can this cold-loving carrier

of pristine love manage to make its way

to the Equator, and across the Ring of Fire?

 

Somewhere, some long ago, when time groaned, and

had sensed a kind of meaning to the white-hot mind,

an ordinary messenger stepped up, planted a bold foot,

crackling crevasses coming so close to the threshhold

of this surrender, the earth stood silent, just so,

holding its coldest space-stretched-out breath,

 

just so...and then, only a nod offered from Yonder.

Every seaside, roaming thought, rolling

to and fro with the moon's pull, the snow's

love-child never knowing of fiery kisses bestowed,

still caused that mystic throb, the heart's pull

from an inward ocean filled with moons all white.

 

Hospital-gowns fluttering on to illicit rendezvous'

with the cold, stern nursing of lungs culling just one,

just one singlular, firey, white-hot breath.

Bravery-bred and sent to hold the chin up, this

clear-calling falcon of formless fancies, sings.

Doesn't matter the mental path of Yoga chosen,

 

all white trails lead straight into the Snowdrift

of coming into knowing that each moment cures us,

of us, if we be fleets of flying white birds, like you,

soaring, sailing, scandalizing all past purity-held

scriptures lying open under the sun of suffering.

Once the Great King of Chivalry carved Himself

 

into the image of a scribe in white, whittling,

as the Master leaned in closely, murmuring, you,

you, time to leave behind all mountaintops in ice.

With each moment being met as the Snow-Song Being Sung,

this tiny white whisper of hope conveys all Grace.

Grace made snow-angels in your soul, and then,

 

The Whitest Heart inside the grove grows quickly, glows,

and sails away, leaving no trace of what was never

born on that solitary mountain-top of a Perfect You-Thought.

And all of this was whitened and wisely worded for this moment.

The Falconer Friend extends His Arm for your landing, and

Night-Vision isn't necessary when you're all seeing, Seeing All.

 

 

Love, Peace,

Mazie

 

 

 

 

 

 

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