Poetic Abbey ramblings...
This just kinda popped out while I was chillin in the Abbey's smoking room tonight. Apparently I'm feeling poetic lately...
This room is crowded
with angels
loosely garbed in
human flesh
unaware of
their own divinity.
A hint here and there
of flawless
transcendental
truth
belies the carefully constructed,
flawed facades.
An eye across the room
flashes with hidden knowledge -
a sudden insight
unable to be conveyed
yet yearning to be free.
A tilted head
next to me
hears a note of
enlightenment
in the contrived
MiddleIndoEuroEastern
music
piping through
smoke-clotted speakers.
And a pen,
unnoticed,
translates inspiration
from a woman's
unguarded buddha-nature
to bleached wood-pulp
in careless counts
of meter
and rhyme.
I watch her,
awed
by her careful
movements
and simple
manner.
She is truth
unveiled -
hope
unleashed
and umolested
by the banality
that surrounds her.
She looks up,
as if somehow aware
preternaturally
of my devotional
stare,
and a faint smile
crosses her lips.
Her brilliant eyes
radiate
something
warm
to me,
and I smile
without reservation
back at her
surprised
both by
the smile
and the connection
we somehow
share.
Awareness
paying homage
to awareness.
Hope
strengthened
by reciprocal
hope.
A stranger
becoming familiar
with one
silent
shared knowledge.
And suddenly,
the flesh of all these angels
blazes away,
filling my eyes
with their secret truth.
And the
stranger-poet
become
friend without words
shares her world
with me.
And I know,
without seeing
the words upon
her page:
"...because, after all,
all we are
are poems;
moments of fragmented, tangential
enlightenment -
snippets of
untold truth and
intrinsic beauty
sandwiched
carelessly
between these ridiculous,
prefabricated
lines."
- Me @ 20 January 2003
This room is crowded
with angels
loosely garbed in
human flesh
unaware of
their own divinity.
A hint here and there
of flawless
transcendental
truth
belies the carefully constructed,
flawed facades.
An eye across the room
flashes with hidden knowledge -
a sudden insight
unable to be conveyed
yet yearning to be free.
A tilted head
next to me
hears a note of
enlightenment
in the contrived
MiddleIndoEuroEastern
music
piping through
smoke-clotted speakers.
And a pen,
unnoticed,
translates inspiration
from a woman's
unguarded buddha-nature
to bleached wood-pulp
in careless counts
of meter
and rhyme.
I watch her,
awed
by her careful
movements
and simple
manner.
She is truth
unveiled -
hope
unleashed
and umolested
by the banality
that surrounds her.
She looks up,
as if somehow aware
preternaturally
of my devotional
stare,
and a faint smile
crosses her lips.
Her brilliant eyes
radiate
something
warm
to me,
and I smile
without reservation
back at her
surprised
both by
the smile
and the connection
we somehow
share.
Awareness
paying homage
to awareness.
Hope
strengthened
by reciprocal
hope.
A stranger
becoming familiar
with one
silent
shared knowledge.
And suddenly,
the flesh of all these angels
blazes away,
filling my eyes
with their secret truth.
And the
stranger-poet
become
friend without words
shares her world
with me.
And I know,
without seeing
the words upon
her page:
"...because, after all,
all we are
are poems;
moments of fragmented, tangential
enlightenment -
snippets of
untold truth and
intrinsic beauty
sandwiched
carelessly
between these ridiculous,
prefabricated
lines."
- Me @ 20 January 2003