Sacred and Secret

Sacred and Secret

In her depths
The pond is silent,
Not the silence
   of simple quietude
   or of nothingness,
But of the living Power
That from a secret place
Spins out sounds,
Form, movement, worlds and breath.
Like the pond
The Saturday visitors
  have their secret silences
   beneath complexity and clamor
   under their engines’ growling fire.
Yet she pulls them, compels them
To come down to her:
  silence seeking silence
  secrets seeking secrets.
Some call her calling their need
  to get out of the house for a while
  to have a little freedom outdoors
  to get away from it all
  to have some fun, unwind, relax.
Unconscious but obedient they come
Lonely, dragging their discontent,
Scattering in a circle
About her banks.

One in a thousand
  in an unencumbered moment
Dives deep enough to touch the silence.
For an instant
   the sartori
        spreads thrill to every cell
        from the infinite within
        to the infinite beyond
       whence he came
        why he’s here
       to what he will return
  before he must catch the ball
       or grasp the drink that’s passed
Lurching back from wonder
       into battering reality.

And of the thousand
  who touch and thrill
One will vanish
From all the sundered worlds
Reaching forth creator’s hands
To paint both ponds and men
  from the glory
  of the silence.

– Durjaya Pliske.


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