holiness in a daydream

The Rose Window

In there: the lazy pacing of their paws

creates a stillness that’s almost dizzying;

and as one of the cats then suddenly

takes the gaze that watches it carelessly

and snatches it into its own great eye,-

and that gaze, as if caught in a whirlpool’s

circle, for a little while stays afloat

and then goes under and is lost to oblivion,

when this eye, which apparently rests,

opens and slams shut with a roaring

and yanks it all the way inside the blood-

thus in olden times out of the darkness

the cathedrals’ great rose windows

would seize hearts and drag them in to God.

…..Rilke

this excavation of our bones is like…..

holing up in a cozy cafe with all of the little lovelies that make you feel safe… a cup o’ joe or tea, your favorite shoes, a great pen & crisp journal & few crayons & charcoal, a rough wood grained table with little blue flowers, a polished stone in your pocket, Rilke & Dylan Thomas & a stack of Parabola magazines, music carried in from the warm & sunny streets…nothing you’d really listen to, but right now it’s like angels singing….

working on a poem & a sketch & remembering another sunny day like this a million years ago & you smile just a little at a cynicism that faded somewhere & the little blue flowers would have been plucked & in your hair in a minute back then, but now it’s enough to be in this moment & not create the moment….

you write about it….then color it blue…how the moment is seized into something greater than you…a boundary crossed into the blue flowers, the blue day, the blue souls all around, your blue heart that is yanked like Rilke’s angels into an intangible sanctuary of perfect openness….& the angels just keep singing….

may the excavation of your bones turn your world to blue….

we tether our own boundaries sometimes…