Being there

Does Heaven know that Earth slips through its folded indigo?
Captured in ever-arcing bondage by the power of a Sun?
We must shut our eyes against its Brightness,
Or be blinded by the golden, burning, rays.
But in the Sun’s Presence there is growth, warmth, comfort, and glowing energy,
Why then should we be forced to close our eyes against that which is most freely given?

Will we find Life on the pale moon that rides in space beside us?
It’s very near, we could easily go there.
But if there is no life,
We should note that, and remind ourselves what it is like to live a life eternally bereft.

Our eyes observe without and within;
The vistas of our minds are as real to us as those beyond our outstretched arms.
Can we ever know what we are looking at if we sense as we see?
How can we judge reality, having so little grasp of what is truly before us?
Are the stars, the planets and the infinite galaxies a reflection of our mind’s eye?
They seem to exist, clear, palpable and forever real.
What to make of it all!

As we look far out into the night sky, our fingers
Trace the tenuous road map drawn for us by ancient men.
Finite patterns marked on a parchment of infinite Space.
Such a comfort to know that the familiar will be there waiting for us when we arrive;
There is “Orion”, “The Great Bear”, and The Pleiades” too, as well-known to us as London, Paris, and New York.

If we can think about something, must it be true?
Though no proof may be found or even expected.
What is it we need to know of the by-ways of Heaven that we walk in our imaginings?
Ourselves, of course! Is it not obvious?
Best that impulse come from a place that offers neither criticism nor censure.
Are we not masters of the constellations, are they not ours, subject to our every whim?

Moon gazing, the summer evening is warm.
Our silver orb hangs full above us, coyly holding off from the stars;
Placed with care upon the canvas of the universe.
Our eyes seek eagerly for the meaning of its existence.
What is the connection?
Carried out on the moon’s liquid light we penetrate into the depths of the cosmos,
Leaving behind, in spirit at least, the weighted influence of Earth.

Billions of stars; billions of years away as light flies and faster,
So very many, so few known by name.
Do the titans in our galaxy reflect what we expect to find?
Mars, a wrathful red god; Saturn, a prisoner within rings of his own making;
Jupiter, our godhead without substance.
Who else can tell us otherwise?

Around us Earth’s warm ripening summer smells rising,
Soft fruit, tongue-tasting sweet,
The heady perfumes of the flowers;
The steady mantras of the insects draw us down again.
Gentle breezes caress the skin, moist with the touch of a long, pleasant day beneath a sun.

The Blessings of Dis; The Second Book of the Gatherers Trilogy.

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