“I am the poet of the Body and I am the poet of the Soul”.Walt Whitman
Not a moment out of place.
Or a step out of line.
A harmony so profound and far-reaching,
Press a yardstick to its body, and it breaks into pieces that it is not,
Called back into a temporal terrain that is not its home, nor ever will be, or can be.
As it is the Everything.
Beyond time and measure.
The Alpha and Omega,
Whirled into form and
Blessed into Being.
Ecstasy flourishing from Stillness, that dwells as its heart.
Eternally removed from the grip of death.
By faith, alone, is it known,
As belief has no business there.
And the rapture of remembering is but a sweet dream.
The terrestrial and the heavenly, drinking of the same waters, inhabiting the same void.
Harmony, what is thy name?
If not, that of the holy and the lowly?
Embracing each other, together, as One.
We, too, people of the earth, can receive from this example.
Not to allow one to be divided against the other,
To turn from each other through false motive,
Or, impulse of perfidious control.
Grasping, dying as those treacheries are.
The small everyday terrors.
Merely biding time, awaiting the Great Healing.
That is already here.
“True healing is not fixing the broken, but rediscovery of the Unbroken.”Jeff Foster
“If the doors of perception were cleansed everything would appear to man as it is, Infinite.”William Blake