30 July 2013
In the place of peace and beauty,
Surrounded by deep woods,
Untouched and unowned,
There is a bird whose call,
Echoes through the forest boughs,
A bird whose call,
Brings me back to the sacred silence,
The deepest sense of wondrous existence,
In the startling moment,
In the ever-renewed moment of wonder and ecstasy.
I do not know the name of the bird,
Have never looked for it, these many years,
to identify its name, or the thrill of its song in my soul,
For I know that the name is irrelevant to that sacred sound,
Echoing in the deep forest and within my ever-awakening soul.
Giving a name to the source of this wondrous call to listen with attention,
might mundialized my utter astonishment,
At the sound arising from the sacred silence,
Bringing me back to reverence and to peace.
What we have named and seen can lose its freshness,
And become another item in the endless litany,
Of things routine, familiar, and worn out.
Better to walk with openness and expectation,
In these deep, mysterious woods,
Ready to receive what cannot be named,
Ready to awaken once again,
In astonishment at the unsayable depths of things,
And again to move cleanly on my way,
In simplicity, reverence, and hope.
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