Even with something as beautiful and elusive and feathery as this, Merudanda, I always have the same final experience: That the soul of Merudanda wants to keep secret, hidden, enclosed in her sacrificial love. *She does not become attached to a desire to be answered*--never. This is a bright colour of the spirit I have never seen I reckon--but perhaps the butterfly is silent, because he has no choice about the perfect sound he makes when he alights on a flower. Do you exercise--ever--your free choice to become personally intimate to anyone in your exquisite aloneness [I will not disturb this with a question mark]. I know I am staggering and stumbling around in your perfect white room, uninvited. It is just that I don't recognize the hunger in you for the requital of your gifts. I am a strange kind of creature myself but not so spontaneous in my gently unfolding mortifications of self as you were born to be. I am waiting for that one gliding in the sky where I see your curvature of your wings bent towards the earth--where at least one of us is waiting for you to descend deeply into our mind. But you are always in the same motionless place where you must be (I presume) in order to create the spring every year. May I still crash around in your room (I see that now it is blue) and ask inside your heart *What do you live on?* For I must believe you live only the music just after the first night when the stars were there--and none but you have eyes to see those notes. Did you comfort Job in his pain? I will never demand that you obey the law of gravity like the rest of us, Merudanda. And your face, you create it every day with the eyes that only see each snowflake that has ever fallen.
Robin --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, merudanda <no_reply@...> wrote: > > Dominus dedit, Dominus abstulit (...)? > Cave...cave > sit nomen Domini benedictum > > and at a far and forlorn beach > merumaid fluttered with his wings > in Job's morning cup > for the flagrance of a long forlorn flower > > the hand and arm > who held this empty cup > holds a kite to surf > with stench of sweat > the boat's in the sky > > > and again > merumaid fluttered with his wings > feeling free > when carried by the winds > > Iob 1, 21 > Nudus egressus sum > de utero matris meae > et nudus revertar illuc... > sit nomen Domini benedictum > > Thanks for taking the time,... > good night > a night in rain storm and lightening > sleep well, > too > .. > --- In FairfieldLife@yahoogroups.com, "Robin Carlsen" <maskedzebra@> > wrote: > snip > He had made me enlightened; I still acted as if he were my Master. > snip >
