Monday, 1 November 2010

Threads of Eternity...

~William Blake said,

"I give you the end of a golden string,
Only wind it into a ball
It will lead you in at Heaven's gate
Built in Jerusalem's wall"
I asked the poet William Stafford one day, "Do you believe that every golden thread will lead us through Jerusalem's wall, or do you love particular threads? " He replied, "No, every thread."

Robert Bly " The darkness around us is deep" - selected works of William Stafford

The thistledown's flying, though the winds are all still,
On the green grass now lying, now mounting the hill,
The spring from the fountain now boils like a pot;
Through stones past the counting it bubbles red-hot.

The ground parched and cracked is like overbaked bread,
The greensward all wracked is, bents dried up and dead.
The fallow fields glitter like water indeed,
And gossamers twitter, flung from weed unto weed.

Hill-tops like hot iron glitter bright in the sun,
And the rivers we're eying burn to gold as they run;
Burning hot is the ground, liquid gold is the air;
Whoever looks round sees Eternity there.
"Autumn" John Clare

~ what colour thread does eternity run through these transient moments of everyday?

Sometimes here in the quiet dark of curtains half drawn, I gaze through rays of light shining through and they slowly begin to illuminate the outlines of another world. ~ Maybe it's here I can find the end of the thread... shining gold.

And too in a girl curling up with a picture book nestled against chest. ~ Every warm shade of pink sunset and worn shade of brown leaf glistening soft as a whisper...

In the small steps, little moments and unannounced actions that turn a life into a gift. ~ I stare hard and find her clothed in beauty...

A friend who simply asks how I am. ~ beams warm yellow sunlight, the colour of smiles...

Stolen moments, brushed hands, lingering kisses from someone who loves me even though they know me through and through. ~ rush red as a blush ...

A silly kitten cat purring upon my lap. ~ blue maroon, in layers...

Baby knitting.  ~ a rainbow wound into a skein...

The poem that moves the prose of life. ~Pure White...

1 comment:

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