Procession (Poem)

Flying the skies with the winged gods of eagle rock
we find ourselves truly in the Core.
Roman temples and Alpine forests portal us to that center,
particular means for our perfected shapes.

The forest court echoes of the messengers,
the valleys of mystery we traverse
and reveal the undercurrent,

Living through the grand proscenium of time
the hills march with us,
a tradition that springs eternal:
our communion with the land.

The inner splendor unravels outward,
the once-coiled spirit in my plexus
now rays of light in our daily deeds.

Beauty shows the king of each land
suspended in the golden space of life,
attendants to the infinite moment.
The queens breathe their harmony
through everything they pass
to our mutual delight.


Complete archive can be found on the Poems page.

Painting: Gefjun Plowing with her Four Oxen, ceiling of Frederiksborg Palace, Denmark


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