Standing Naked In The Mystery
I return each winter when the moon is full
and the stars shine bright in the black sky.
I return to a quiet place that has been
in the heart and soul of humanity – forever
when the heavens stand still for just a moment
in this quiet place I’m sure we all feel.
The ever-present cycle of birth, growth and blossoming,
the wisdom of autumn and death of each heartbeat,
breath filing each cell, organ, limb, body, tree,
mountain, planet and galaxy dancing the dance
of transformation and renewal,
we are reminded of in this quiet place.
Strange how the ancient mind pictured this
timeless cycle of living-dying.
The Egyptian and Greek, the pre-medieval
mind whispered stories to embody and carry forward
this reverence that we feel.
The cross traversing the perfect circle,
dividing the heavens into four seasons,
of that they made into a symbol of pain.
And of that ever-new, transcendent spirit,
that force that is born again and again
and again each moment, of that they cast
as an image of ‘a’ man.
The metaphysical gifts of love, affection,
good health and wholeness, of that
they made into toy trains, talking gadgets and silk ties.
Not the image of man, but that transcendent spirit called Christ
pushing the blade of grass through the concrete
of our conditioning flows freely in this quiet place
that I’m sure, if we listen, we can feel.
The mystic see what lays hidden from
the enchanted mind with its symbols, concepts and images,
they see the eternal sea of light turning and churning
behind the stories we tell on this winter’s eve.
May you stop as the heavens do each year
and stand in the mystery that casts this spell
as it has done forever and will forever.
May it touch you, nay pierce you like Zeus’s
lightning bolt – and in that stunned-timeless moment
see the miracle that you are
and will always be.
This is our winter’s tale.