Butterfly
Reaching for the everlasting is like trying to capture the light of a butterfly’s wings. It can’t be done with hands. It defies concepts, sensation – even imagination must plunge into silence. And the experience is like waking in the night, where your sleep is the tomb and centuries have passed. You wake to the one you love and immediately want to return to sleep again and uninterrupted union.
The world has hooks in you and your own body is world too. How can I escape except by chanting a spell or singing a long invocation? And then I see, in the space I have created with sound, that the butterfly’s wings are my own – that they extend far into space and beat the cosmos into light.
Centuries (for H. W.)
If I woke from a thousand year night
and the first thing I saw was you
I would think the sun had risen in my arms
while the stars were still pouring through my ears.
And if my mind was still slow to think,
mired in dreams, the dream I’d love to hold
as my waking light would only be of you.
Then when morning’s half-defeated shadow
gave way to lasting sun I’d long for night again
and the uninterrupted union of hearts
in the centuries of light untouched by time.
Gods
At last, where sleep has whispered
its credentials, where thought
has slain itself in sacrifice,
imagination plunged its precipice
and sheer sensation
blanked out its own name, I
will offer myself, a yearling god
to gods who made my sight and touch
and dreamed my purpose whole.
Butterfly
The world has hooks in me -
my body world too -
and I would chant a spell
or sing an invocation
to be free. Then standing
in the space I’ve made with sound
I’d feel my wings -
as any butterfly -
beat the cosmos into light.
Best wishes, today,
Landar
©landar 2011. All rights reserved
You can also find Landar on EVOLVER:
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