This poem outlines the slowness of the moments accruing toward revelation. It highlights the patience needed for anything of beauty to come to fruition. It also celebrates the wonder of small details and lives, as what make up the miracle of being alive. The writing process started as an exercise in mindfulness, in noticing the changes in the natural environment and celebrating them as the very embodiment of the essence of life. The moment of consummation, the climax, is also celebrated with the awareness of both its numinous quality and its transiency. Through the tracking of changes in the natural environment, the poem also accounts for the little, inner movements of individual consciousness attuning and listening to nature, and witnessing both itself and the outside changing world. Even if there is no identification, there is an allegiance between the observer and the surrounding world, as the underlying theme is a sort of rhythm, a spiritual harmony between human consciousness and the natural happenings. The poem celebrates listening as a key attitude, involving more than our ears, a way of being in the world and taking care of it.
1. In the starless night lulled by a huge orange moon I prick my ears breath slowly swing. Below the river runs bubbling forth with a voice of its own delivering messages in an uncracked code.
2. The caterpillar becomes water waiting for an unknown life. All around warm darkness envelops its stillness till the moment comes.
A blue butterfly sails the air with wings like transparent veils. A pink rose has been waiting since the dawn of time. Blue butterfly lands on its crown the silent consummation of destined love. All around other butterflies and other roses all in many hues but none like this butterfly and this rose. Difference is a nuance the hint of a scent wafting in the late Spring air.
3. Soon the pink stork comes out of the marsh. After waiting, standing still in the swamp, it is ready to fly again. Still waters reflect its long beak as it waits to catch its prey. Mud has settled to the bottom. The waters are mirror-like.
4. And the sleepy volcano yawning at the sky wakes up.
It releases lava and cloaked stars. At dawn, all will be revealed.
5. The inner voice of truth awakens and blows in me sweeping the plains shaking the torpor off the oak trees. There will be a grove again.
