From the Forge of the Infinite
It is a midsummer song
sung by a druid
on the Salisbury plain.
It has been heard in a summer breeze
whispering circular sacred geometry
in the warm fields
It is in the memory of concave Doric…
vast parallel pillars
holding fast against flat friend architrave
while mesotopes calmed the feel
of the high feathering triglyphs,
ancient white thing
along the path of the Pleiades.
It was a deep ache in the heart
of Lao Tzu.
The thirst that Alexander slaked
with Persian conquest
what made St. Columba penitent
upon the shores of Iona
after three thousand souls perished
at Cuil Dremne.
heed the call
of Oyamel Fir and Eucalyptus,
the same as humanity
was drawn to play the drum
the same way leatherback turtles
crawl upon the beaches by moonlight
like Kilauea’n pahoehoe firelight in reverse,
creating new life and new land
as aeons dictate.
There is a space between form
a distance that creates itself
from us and God…
in that great opening space
dawns ceaseless sunsets.
All music, nature, instruments
poetry, machinery, tragedy, joy,
death and birth
is borne from there.
From the Crusades to Mozart’s fingers
to the paint that lingers
on Michelangelo’s brush.
It was there when Pliny the Elder
raised the fleet
and lost his feet
at the foot of Vesuvius
because he wanted to understand.
The ways in which we wish to know
have become the snowflakes of man’s creation…
by now everything is covered with a blanket
of white misdirection,
winter is here.
When humanity was born
the realization of emptiness
became a lit foundry
and our trajectory has been to forge
material….tools that we do not need
and beliefs…that kill us.
Are we ready to listen to the space in between the stars?
Will we see that what is in the distance
between us and God
is absolute Love…ribald existence
that does not have to harm anything, any longer?