The
breath of paradise on my lips,
speaking
the language of angels.
Turquoise
dust clings to my feet
from
walking along jeweled riverbanks.
The
fragrance of paradise in my hair
from
sleeping in its garden of wild roses.
Brought
to this place on the back of a whale,
I
can hear birds sing in the rain.
My
eyes sink deep into my head
washed
by tears of a newborn.
I
live in the crystal void of paradise
and
its harmonies rock me to sleep, awakened forever.
So
where did I go astray, or is it part of the plan,
lessons
to learn at my mothers brow?
Be
still. Listen in, listen out -- its a whisper on my breath,
the
unsecret secret of the gods immortal.
But
the winds blow and the path becomes narrow
and
I stumble over illusions & make believe.
Doubting
whats real, I disconnect my heart
and
lose sight of the footprints toward heaven.
I
deny lifes most magical
and
slay the dragons and burn the witches and tear down spiders webs.
All
in all, I lose myself and can only yearn
for
lingering in the space between the spaces.
Small
and frightened, I forget my home
and
believe the thoughts I am thinking.
I
fill my eyes with looking and my ears with empty stories
and
take comfort in the familiarity of being limited.
I
imagine I am caught in a prison of nets
if
for nothing but to feel something, so afraid of being alive in the unknown.
I
rage and punch and shout curses at the web,
blocking
out even echoes of paradise.
Something
has me stop for a speck of a moment
and
something brushes my face like the tongue of a puppy
and
something tugs at my fingers but there is nothing to see
and
in something like a mirror I see myself laughing at something that looks like
me.
What
if feeling trapped is when I cant hear whats real,
the
truth of who I am?
What
if fear is the absence of trusting --
a
chaos of contortions played out in the pretense of avoiding love.
What
if hell is the absence of beauty,
a
tangled & confused & humorless rubble.
What
if rage is the absence of touch
and
pain is the absence of stillness?
What
if heaven is flying without a net,
and
the web is a labyrinth to freedom?
Then
the route home is always at my feet
and
my wings have never been altered.
Moving
with the web like a meditation,
I
merge with what has captured me.
Nothing
in my memory to keep me from falling,
just
the sensation of the webs gentle sway.
I
close my eyes and see the spaces,
floating
through them on breaths of indigo waves.
Surrendering
more, I open all that can open
and
the untangling spins and twirls me.
Tumbling
out, the wide horizon of the world is waiting,
I
wonder how I got here.
Feathers
of the seraphim tickle my fancies of paradise
and
in slow motion I leap frog back to the crossing.
by Cornelia Powell 5/03