The caves of the wilderness open their doors
To those who walk with an open heart—
Quiet doorways behind swaying pines
Whose hinges creek in the wind,
A slit in the sandstone, buried in shadows
That opens into a small, dark world,
Like a pocket sewn into a seam of time.
If there is anywhere about this earth
The smallest of rents in the veil,
I think it must be in the deep, dark woods,
Or deep in the human soul.
Clothed in white against the window,
Backlit by the salt glare emptiness
Of winter’s brazen stare, you sit
Composed, a grin flashes and fades,
Whole worlds rise and fall behind your eyes,
You say nothing.
The love that breathed here
Once feels evanescent now, concealed
Behind statistical probabilities
Like an atom in the quantum field,
Taking shape only when observed.
The inner workings of the world
Invite us to a different view.
I have seen the mask slip
On the face of the world
In the void underneath
All the timelines converge
Back to the dance
All the steps are reversed
And only the hard, unrelenting smiles
Keep us in time til the rhythm returns
With one foot on the stage and one in the void
The music we’re born with dances with time
I. Water
In the beginning, when darkness hovered
Over the surface of the deep,
There was no moon to pull the waters
Toward their home among the stars,
No fish to hold us in its belly
Until we understand
That our souls were inscibed with messages
We must speak into being.
There was only the darkness and the deep--
The eternal, churning heart of all things.
II. Fire
Air speaks:
You are my sacred counterpart
Though you can fill no sails,
And I am not the alchemist
You are who can turn flesh to ash
And yet no greater miracle exists
Than when you and I wed.
Forget the wedding party,
We will turn the whole world red.
III. Air
Fire speaks:
I am borrowed from heaven,
Heart of the gods, lent to men.
I require constant attention
And there's always someone to supply it.
[Air did not reply to this,
And carried on her way].
IV. Earth
Think of the predicament
We've placed the planet in.
Flesh of her flesh, bones made of
The same stuff as stones,
Our breath a never-ending exchange
Where we welcome her into our chests,
Yet deny her any purchase
Until we must.
She is us, and vice versa, yet
As wayward children
We have tied her hands behind her back
While she looks on in horror at our actions.
With every breath she calls us back
To union with all things.
Our bold refusal leaves her with no choice
But to collect the dust we're made of
In her palm, and scatter to the winds
The dream that we will understand
The predicament we're in.
