There is one chance perhaps to become an angel and see as an angel does. It means gathering up the darkness of the logs and moss in winter – subsuming them and rising beyond their night-time kingdom, beyond the epic patience of the earth.
And I saw to my delight that the angel was also a butterfly in winter, heralding the birth of a new world from darkness – the emergence of an All from the nothing, and a new self from the All.
Therefore there is a moment, surely, when the butterfly’s wings spread, when the angel’s wings flow, and the brilliant colors and panes in them become eyes for us to see with? This remains a time of belief – belief in the power of nothing and All to become each other and change everything.
All my sky is angels, earth is poems,
self is spirit walking in new-made world.
Then how to believe in forests at night,
black-smooth surfaces of limbs in deep sleep?
Believe – a thousand times in silent space,
believe – when eyes pull back the blazing dark,
believe – when nothing lives except belief:
is it not time to be born out of All?
I had not seen it yet – the butterfly
which settled in my mind and denied sleep:
forever seeking light and finding it
beyond the moss and logs and caves of night.
It is angel too and has slipped its shape
in time for the turning of the dark year.
Now it waits as clear as any true thought
for the birth of All where nothing had been.
Best wishes, today,
© Landar 2012. All rights reserved
You are welcome to quote from Light on the Page on the condition that you cite the author and the source: Author: Jay Landar. Source: www.lightonthepage.com. For other permissions please contact the author.