400: Entered

Where you stand, I enter. My sunlight opened in the ray of you. Where you are, I be, nestled between the edges of your making. I am the sugar sprinkled cross the sunrise desert, the frosting dipped beneath and within, yellow-dancing in the outskirts of my thoughts. Where I travel, you are, carried upon my shoulders, the lightest of feathers, blanketing me, my shield of angels splendor. I spin, come round each wake, reborn in your giving and eternal goodness. I rise; the angelic force instilled gently like the wind through the meadow spring. I bubble and wrap in the bluest-blue, the stillness awoken in your cleansing waters.

Where you stand, I enter. My darling lover of the fallen night, the darkness dripped away as canvas cleansed with the brushes wet; each color washed over with newness and new day. A caravan of awakening upon awakening, surprises always there but never seen. You move, and I follow, the drapery of your kindness a trail of delight, smoothing past the garden’s gaiety as candle wax of brevity. I drip, you drip. I bleed, you bleed. Connected we are in the tumbling of my being. Unspun and rewoven into the kaleidoscope of me within me, the light swollen as the woman with child, birthing and rebirthing the newfound hope.

Where you stand, I enter. I glide, the child on your coattail, following a form I neither see nor want, but desire, my rain to the petal wept, my seed to the fallen bird. I soar, the embers of my mind cascading down to the soil of naught, and slipping into the oceans that be, sailing once and then again, into the mystery of time. Sprouting in the eternalness of river led to mouth, and mouth led to sky. I am this. I am this drumbeat of the earth, the willow tree that touches down in gratitude and meets the tender grasses with her open hands. I am this. The weathered-breast of soldier fought, bowing down in remission and remembrance to echoes of the battlefield. I have retreated to the highest ground that leads to nowhere but to thy very self. And here, in the chambers still, I watch, my eyes as falcon born, dreaming of the ways I traveled. For I am dreamer yet, trapped in the window of my memory.

Where you stand, I enter. I hear you as I hear my very voice. The rhythm feeds my withered bones, the dauntless eyes erased, the gauntlets tossed empty. Here is where I sparkle, my soul leaped forward from the place of behind to the place of entrance. Here where I stand, you enter, taking my tethered thoughts and bleeding them out to the world. My sacrifice, your sacrifice. My heart, your heart. My enemy made clear in the taking of circumstance of my liking, when bitter liking it be. And thusly, I am sweetened, made as bread to the master, ripened in the cream and butter nut of goodness. So that when I look upon the thoughts that were, I see the emptiness of cause, the fawning ways in which I walked. How with danger I froze, the deer-dove I was, with wings of no service in the state of fear.

Where you stand, I enter. I know not what I do or what I do, who I am or what I be. I know nothing of your kindness or your glory. I know not face or name of maker. I know not if exist exists. And in this I know not if my voice is but rising to thy very own chambers of light and there made feed for the mass of me. None other but I, listening to the merry voice of reason lost. No more than this, my empty vessels feeding upon the nibbles of hope. Yet, here I rest, in the serenity of uncertainty. For no matter the form, or shape, or even the distance from the dwelling to the home of home, if I be not home already, then the waiting is of peace. The waiting is of necessity lost and freedom found. I care not what you be or how you be, or what layman’s ways I set upon your threshold, for it matters not to me the way in which you came, only that you entered so.

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One thought on “400: Entered

  1. Translation in my brain: Like the perfect days of days, the days of summer in the days of childhood, where indeed, the yard went on forever..and all that ever meant anything was there and neverending. A memory living fully and no longer a memory, but life now. Those are the moments of Glory, and the Angels supply the ice cold lemonade.

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