Rants on Loves Essence

I close my eyes, long back, days, years, months stretch, I stated & had started this quest.

Cool silence, so tranquil, safe from the world. The heart lie under a thatched roof that may not get hot in the breeze and not grow wet under storm. I smile because I am hardly here, not nearly disturbed, distant from the phenomenal world. Silent is wrapping my mood as a child would feel in a cozey blanket or a baby in mother's womb. I am the arched plant enjoying gentle rain, shielded from the suns burn by rolling clouds, harboring trickling water through the stem, branching out to rejuvenate it's limbs.

Alas there is peace in a world of all conflicting
Here and now there is no boundary between me and that calm bounty
Peace has shown it's face
It's mellow eyes of light, soft stroking hands, gosling hair, taming the waves of this experience
Creating harmony, glowing, fragrant, with a soft smile
Happy nor sad, a cupped pair of hands permeable to water
Giving & receiving, foraging to let go, emerging & receding a running spring
Recycling, to and from the same source...

~~~

From this limited perspective, love is a strange thing, refuting label, needing no premise, only a gap, a tint, a space of silence to enter and expand, intoxicate & clarify. I feel, that in this love the battling worlds may merge & meet, there bellows & storms will ease and prosperity will reach full fruition. This love is strange, it has wrung me dry of pestilent sorrow, it has torn the limbs of jealous disapproval, while impregnating the seeds of humble patience. It has forsaken me with a prodding sting of these elements so I may know purification. Though I speak, it is not for teachings sake, nor praise, it is as a child gazes towards a lightly draped pool of lilies, that pull away so he may see his reflection skimming the water's depths. Imminent beauty, still lasting waters laying me to rest in the deepest corridors of blue.

Hands fold in prayer that collapse in persecution
In pains & pangs we leave our sheltered abodes
Through tepid plains and rolling hills
Hardened imagery and verbal quicksand
Wide & Far we March & Maneuver ...

There is a garden yet choked by weed
Whose plants poise perfection, and do not dissolve come winter
It is a field sewn by personal sorrow, with seed cracked to budding
In quiet tears, mute voices, and words unspoken
Occasionally we revisit this garden
To find solace, rest, and everlasting peace

In the bird laying song to the morning wind
We may hear a note of it's cool splendor
As a flowers fragrance exalts the air
But a touch of it's scent may greet us
In these aspects, a glistening garden can come into view

In the summers sparkling sun
In the first folly of spring season
In the impermanence of autumn leaf
In the cold crackle of winter chill
Each grants us opportunity, to again see anew

To see change as participle of growth
To see birth and death flourish the same
In moments like these we return
To those green shrubs withstanding time
Imperishable and always alive


I know that this poem will be torn by the flow of time
By hungry hands or face of impedance famished for truth
But it's message contained shall never foul, or spoil, or fade, or die
For it is free of time and transience
Born of transcendent impulse
It is a flower in this garden of love