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Traveler in the Unseen
Just a few petals
of sun have ignited
the pond
and already I am
sinking in light,
an unseen light,
which is everything,
only pretending to be broken,
to be form,
to be you and I
until the day we surge
back into shapeless,
unleashed joy that
for now is only a
honey-colored,
rain-scented
legend on the edge
of awareness.
And here comes the wind
with its ghost body
splashing through
leaves and sky,
all tinsel and dizzy green.
Make room for me,
romping spirit,
rinse me
in the floating hope
that traveled all the way
from Heaven.
Tell me more about God . . .
See, the crane knows:
Without moving,
he stepped out of the
backdrop of his
shaggy world
and here he is unfolding
into a shock of
wings and power—
what a conspiracy of beauty
and wordless understanding
I can somehow unravel . . .
So here is truth:
We never left.
We never failed.
It was here all the time—
that thing we were screaming
for in the part of ourselves
we forget is real.
Wandering now . . .
beyond the silence,
a stranger in all this
knowing.
In the Absolute we are
the Unseen. We return
to where we began:
in the complete
and unquestioning love
that always was.
Patricia Joan Jones
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