As spring arrives, it reminds of the renewal cycle of rebirth which manifest again and again. the whole creation, every molecule is in a continuous state of renewing itself again and again. the Divine comes into manifestation with every moment. no two moments are the same yet they belong to Oneness, each is part of Whole. what a miracle to witness this arrival and being part of this becoming! May this spring bring new life energy, new inspiration to your life and your loved ones.
on night of the Spring Equinox, the following poem was shared by author and visionary artist Colette. thanks Colette for sharing!
Become Becoming | Li-Young Lee
Wait for evening.
Then you’ll be alone.
Wait for the playground to empty.
Then call out those companions from childhood:
The one who closed his eyes
and pretended to be invisible.
The one to whom you told every secret.
The one who made a world of any hiding place.
And don’t forget the one who listened in silence
while you wondered out lout:
Is the universe an empty mirror? A flowering tree?
Is the universe the sleep of a woman?
Wait for the sky’s last blue
(the color of your homesickness).
Then you’ll know the answer.
Wait for the air’s first gold
(that color of Amen).
Then you’ll spy the wind’ barefoot steps.
Then you’ll recall that story beginning
with a child who strays in the woods.
The search for him goes on in the growing
shadow of the clock.
And the face behind the clock’s face
is not his father’s face.
And the hands behind the clock’s hands
are not his mother’s hands.
All of Time began when you first answered
to the names your mother and father gave you.
Soon, those names will travel with the leaves.
Then, you can trade places with the wind.
Then you’ll remember your life
as a book of candles,
each page read by the light of its own burning.
credit. Behind My Eyes
on night of the Spring Equinox, the following poem was shared by author and visionary artist Colette. thanks Colette for sharing!
Become Becoming | Li-Young Lee
Wait for evening.
Then you’ll be alone.
Wait for the playground to empty.
Then call out those companions from childhood:
The one who closed his eyes
and pretended to be invisible.
The one to whom you told every secret.
The one who made a world of any hiding place.
And don’t forget the one who listened in silence
while you wondered out lout:
Is the universe an empty mirror? A flowering tree?
Is the universe the sleep of a woman?
Wait for the sky’s last blue
(the color of your homesickness).
Then you’ll know the answer.
Wait for the air’s first gold
(that color of Amen).
Then you’ll spy the wind’ barefoot steps.
Then you’ll recall that story beginning
with a child who strays in the woods.
The search for him goes on in the growing
shadow of the clock.
And the face behind the clock’s face
is not his father’s face.
And the hands behind the clock’s hands
are not his mother’s hands.
All of Time began when you first answered
to the names your mother and father gave you.
Soon, those names will travel with the leaves.
Then, you can trade places with the wind.
Then you’ll remember your life
as a book of candles,
each page read by the light of its own burning.
credit. Behind My Eyes
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