Beyond All Limitation

Angel and devil, never meant to be glanced
within a lasting, ever-fading photographic
image of that ever-living dance divine; yet still
they glide, and more; and as I hold this glimpse
within my childlike heart, I come to see,
that they will be as one into eternity -
dancing still, beyond all limitation...

Angels, too, are terrified into the steadiness
that those enchantments of hypnotic trance
still seem to bring to be, seeking and avoiding,
all at once, just what it really feels like to be real
(Pinnochio now come to be no more than just
the wood or stone of alter-imaging). And so
they join another choir, and sing another mystic
chant, enjoining other angels to join in (as long
as they, themselves remain the same) and never
have to dare to reach deep down into this land
of which humanity so ardently arises.  For how
can even they withstand the beauty found in
lighted eyes that see so much within each touch,
each cell that lives and breathes the feel of love
into that ever greater being?

Devilish, the morning mist must reach and touch
e'en them (oh mist of pure divinity of form, that
ever reaches out to come to touch), as all the light
of sun on high extends its beams of pure surrendering.
And faeries (oh wee angels!) drifting ever in between
the here and there; never quite choosing, yet ever alive -
they alight on a flower, then fly through the skies.
While elves themselves then must become angelic
forms spun into mortal form, that always seem to find
a way to really listen in this sense of all becoming -
silently and secretly, to every nuance of the Aspen leaves
that sing into that one pure day of autumn -
when flying free at last becomes
the surety of every tide of airy clarity.

Here and there, a deva finds the dance of dervishes -
that takes the feeling of all motion, doubling then trebling
each breathe that serves to move aerated blood into
their muscles' trembling; finding then a way to live
within its frenzy of pure whirling delight. And oh,
once deity responds to this (the source of every feeling
of existence) it must answer and then come to dance
within this flight of all emotions  - the ones that
only pure delight have ever brought to be
within their feel of love and evermore come real.

Drifting, sifting; altering - the consciousness we thought
to be no more than yesterday.  Motion flowing
ever to a future presence that exists
right in the here and now; for all we are,
becomes alight within one great responsiveness
of living, loving light.  It dims itself at times,
becoming yet another dream that simply
must imbibe an incubation in reality; waiting
anxiously for yet another spring of being that will melt
into the vastness that its blossoming will come to bare.

While we, of this humanity, must do our best
to try to summarize the all and everything
that streams through us in each new state of being.
One and then another - reaching past the points
that any sanction of past sanity allows; then ever
coming back to this - and altering the universe
within a blessing of the loving energy we live;
so free upon these windblown tides - in heights of
all the depth of oceanic strength and creativity.

This too, we come to breathe into the atmosphere,
as time and space and distance must respond to
every particle of which they have become, living in
this vastness of composure - it matters not the new,
the old; nor even that great mystery of in between -
for we are real in ways that even terrify (yet still!)
a multitude of angels.

While that mighty throne of some unaltered God of
only right and good that never came to know
what's really wrong, still waits within an emptiness
that etches itself too, across the skies, and thus
within all tides of mind and consciousness.
Yet he seeks, too, for this; this love born of a sensitivity
that only comes of flesh divinely altered by a presence
so surreal that gods and goddesses bow down to its
appeal. Hearts beating tenderly into each other; in an
alchemy of transformation that ever must remain
beyond all reach. Now mother to each growing child
contained within a womb of living being - surely this
experience must serve as ever-living proof of the
quality of all eternity in transformation; bringing into
flesh the ever-livng glory ever sought
in realms of power and of will; and yet the end still
means to stay just there - beyond even the call of
this - the power of imagination singing
in a singularity.

For angel and devil, beyond all will or want, or even
great desire, become the nexus and anomaly of ever-
after; as these worlds of mankind's psychic sublimation
become again the living dance of all divinity. They glide
and blend in ever-living beams and streams of light,
that ever choose to just become another tiny spark,
holding still the feel of this one love in every open,
childlike heart. And I come to see, that *They* are
(even now) just one pure motion of eternity itself,
still dancing in and out and yet beyond all human
limitation - softly speaking, whispering to each of us
to just abide within, upon this earth, whose heart still
beats her one and only love into infinity and back
again into reality - through us...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home . . .