I go to the lake to see unblinking
water watching it all,

where above is below,
the celestial is Earth,
as it should be,

with giddy, leafy
entanglement behind me,

and there's even the
possibility of
dimensionless joy,
and perhaps in spirit I
can walk on the endlessness—
this Renaissance sky
that should be packed
with cherubs,

but it's not

because even the hidden
kingdoms beneath the surface
honor its right to be still,
to be a lens sipping
every drop of light
the world wants to
give it.

Oh Light above
and below,
quiet this tirade I carried to
this sacredness,
soaked in sky-love and locked
in time,

make peace a part of me
I can never lose,

acceptance, effortless
and airborne as
the willow branches.

The lake of statuesque clouds
and unflinching blue,
now pin-pricked by an
unseen insect,
is scrambled,
along with everything
I was so sure of.

And that's perfect.

No matter how far I wander,
I'm Here.

No one is lost in the
Unified Field.


Patricia Joan Jones