A spirit calls to me, as if a whisper formed
itself upon the silence of all wind. It's neither
young nor old, nor can it claim the in-between
to be its own; for it encompasses within itself
a meaning that out-spans all sense of distance.
Recaptured memories of ancient days receive
themselves again in this, our ever-altering meeting.

A feeling of abandonment rings hollowly within
my inner ear as they draw near; those souls that
seek the sense of a release within these ever-loving
arms of tenderness - too oft' displayed as if its
feeling streamed much deeper than it ever came
to live itself inside inside of them. And I find myself
expanded to a state beyond sensation, without
a dullness come to take its place, but rather
in a buoyancy that keeps me floating there,
all unattached.

I wonder to myself if this is all that death will
bring to me. "No." A word is formed out of the
mists - invisibly it seeks its home within this
altered heart. "For everything that dies becomes
a newness growing in a pause that comes to be
another incarnation."  Yet I intuit, still, a wealth
of living, moving words would flow from just a
moment of this state of endless bliss. And so
I came to listen once again to all the silence
of the wind.

At last ( it seemed forever spanned this waiting without
patience), and I felt an opening - yet still without the words
created to describe totality within the realm of feeling all
sensation. And so I came to pull upon one endless thread
within an ever-changing tapestry. Echoing (too many
voices answered then, to me), and wishing that just one
would come to find the words for all of them, complete.

And so I stood suspended on a threshold running through
and through it all, still intent upon this listening, within
what other men still called a silence. Electrically, a shock
(too startling to be endured by most) swept through one
living, salient frame; as light began its ever-dance upon
the waves and swells of all awakening.

For a spirit calls to me, as if a whisper formed
itself upon the silence of all wind. It's neither
young nor old, nor can it claim the in-between
to be its own; for it encompasses within itself
a meaning that out-spans all sense of distance.
Recaptured memories of ancient days receive
themselves again in this, our ever-altering meeting.

Somehow in this (that yet all life must seek to just
attain), attachment seems to be no more than just
another string to be let go, even as the built-in
innocence of yet another shimmer of a newborn
star began to shiver its way into what was known
of mind's reaction to reality, if ever so indecently,
within a distance held in that - some other form
and shape and space of being. And so
I came to burn among the coolness of an
autumn wind that blew me ever-after into this -
this opening - that leads to love that bleeds and
builds itself into and through a healing
(thus living on within infinity)
becoming the forevermore that leads
us back to realms of evermore
(within a sense of innocence that ever
comes to know itself - divine)...

? Michaelette ?