I
Out of Void-Reality came the triumph of
the Word, noble omni-vibration, utterance
of utterances.
Out of the Word came the triumph of the
Effulgent Light, luminous sea of splendor,
shine of shines.
Out of Effulgent Light came the triumph of
an Infinitude of Universes, clusters of glorious
galaxies, dances of dances of dances.
Out of this Infinitude came the triumph of
Splendiferous Souls, roaming balls of star-pollen,
wanderers and wanderers and wanderers.
Out of these Splendiferous Souls came the triumph of Life.
The World soon followed, and with the World
came the Dawn of Flesh.
II
The Dawn of Flesh,
the morning of ancient youth,
gave to the earth the first mother.
Inside her belly grew a sphere,
a womb, an indwelling seat where star-pollen
came to hide from the vastness of countless
galactic territories.
Star-pollen, after time, magic, and love had impregnated
it, turned into the blueprint for earthly citizenry:
the child, the miracle.
When time was ripe, the sphere broke open to reveal
love-as-flesh and flesh-as-love.
Eyes met.
Eyes embraced.
Eyes danced.
The first mother engendered an
unadulterated triumph.
III
Twilight was twinkling and ruling the
unclaimed sky the day the first mother spoke
to the first child.
She spoke in a spiral of whispers like a curved wind
over silent dunes of textural sand.
She said: “The day has come and gone, and now the
night rules. Listen to me now. My stories shall etch
understanding into your soul.”
The first mother went on and on about the riddles of existence,
the origins of life, the depths and convolutions of flesh.
Her spiral-whispers coated the child with layers
of love and meaning.
She spoke until nothing remained in her but an
imperturbable silence.
The silence coated the child with its own power,
its wisdom unheard.
IV
The day came again out of the maw of night.
Its light was sound.
Its sound was vitality itself.
The child, the curious miracle, grabbed the
sound-as-light with his wondrous eyes.
Many sonic-things flooded his field of illustrious vision:
birds of motion and music, plants of potencies and virtues,
landscapes of texture and tone.
The child took it all in as the first mother slept in the comfort
of her timeless abode.
Hours passed this way in the land of salvation.
When the jewels of perception became a little too hard
to handle, the child slipped back into the now-stream of
ever-flowing dream and fell swiftly into a chasm
of exalted reveries.
There another type of wisdom dwelled.
V
The first mother gingerly placed the child down
on a bed of wheat and cloth.
Instinct told her to hunt for food in the
early morning light.
She glanced back at the miracle she sculpted in the womb
of passion one time before exiting her abode.
She blew him a kiss that would linger for days in the
dream-space they shared.
The kiss would sustain the both of them.
It became the eternal moment hidden behind
the invisible essence of air.
When she turned back towards the spacious and uncertain
world outside the abode of quiescence, good omens
and signs appeared on the horizon.
The dreaming day was already displaying its holiness.
VI
On a hill of jade and ruby flowers,
the first mother discovered an egg that seemed
to exude beauty and mystery.
Why was it alone?
Where did it come from in the
interminable flux of things?
What did destiny have in store for such a little form
in the grand procession of towering forms?
Curiously, the first mother picked up the numinous egg
and held it in her hands as though she were a great demiurge
holding a shelled world.
She felt its power, its intrinsic wisdom,
the ingenuity of its beauty, and the light it carried softly within.
Intuitively, she knew her child would benefit from such a jewel
of perception.
VII
The first mother carried the enigmatic egg back to the
abode of wonder in a land where salvation was as vast
as the azure sky.
Along the forking paths, plants spoke in the dialect of green,
and stream spoke in the language of flow.
Time aligned itself with first mother’s perceptions,
and together they symbiotically followed the dance of dances.
Space unfurled like a flower of dazzling proportions, blossoming
florid dimensions and fragrant forms.
By the time she got the egg back home,
the world had already given her a masterful lesson
in the art of conscious journeying.
Life had passed through her being.
Life had left its indelible mark.
VIII
The first mother placed the egg in an alcove near
a festival of dancing shadows.
These dancing shadows were created out of the
betrothal of form and light.
They were beautifully educated in the archaic
science of evocative movements.
They danced for some time in silence, and then the child
awoke from a dream where other shadows danced in
subliminal realms of subtle contours.
When he awoke, the dance had ceased on the floor.
The light of the day had moved beyond the entrance.
Gleefully, his eyes acknowledged the presence of the egg.
Mother smiled with light and lips of triumph.
IX
On the second night of the child’s precious life,
the mysterious egg fell from the alcove and cracked open
on the floor.
For a moment, a wise light emanated from cracks in the
philosophic egg, and it seemed to hum like so many
bejeweled spirit-choirs.
Then the light vanished.
Vanished into essential stillness.
Initially, the first mother was upset over the loss of
such a form.
She thought she lost an heirloom from a primeval goddess.
But when she put down her miracle and
investigated the situation further, her youthful eyes noticed
that a text was scrawled on the inside of the egg.
The text was glowing.
The luminance of the words was wholly palpable.
X
First mother carefully picked up the fragile remnants
of the philosophic egg and brought them over to the bed she
rapturously shared with her child.
She passionately put the pieces back together again.
She passionately investigated the illumined text as though
she was simultaneously entranced by the words and the light.
Like an orator caught in a language-web of magic, she gleefully
read the text aloud in a slew of spiral-whispers:
“Inside form is the gentle.
The gentle is primary.
Never let this gentle spoil, for it is
the jewel that outshines all other jewels.
Cultivate this gentle with love.
Nothing else is required.”
Her spiral-whispers faded into the eerie stillness
of night as her child absorbed the wisdom future
civilizations would depend upon in times of imminent
catastrophe.
XI
Eventually the day came marching out of the maw of night again.
Everything was gentle at the center of things.
The first child opened his eyes and, like before, all the jewels
of perception came rushing forth from hidden and
extravagant dimensions.
The triumph of it all was apparent.
Life was a grand procession of towering and miniscule things.
The gentle within ruled them all.
No comments:
Post a Comment