THIS PATH OF LIFE

Dedicated to David Gifford.  David, I got inspired by your posts, and the many years since we met and how those years transform people's purpose, discipline and way of seeing the world, how people grow, like a tree becoming a forest emblematic of developing a tradition or way of understanding the world and being in the world. The poem starts with a sense of amber time, the things that pass with time that capture some evidence of a moment of the passage of time, and I thought this like a successor following a path set out from others, and how the novice becomes a sage by a connection to Nature of paths individuated by realizations and kinds of intermittent moments of enlightenment.  I make allusions to this in the meditative moment after a storm, an analogy of human nature that announces itself in the peace after a sort of metaphoric storm that represents not conflict necessary but the very process of individuation and its relation to one step followed after another followed after another, that can be the mechanical achievement of discovering the world anew.  I draw analogies to a solitary tree, emblematic of any new tradition, I feel that the artists are like this tree, in some way, revealing and embodying the connections between things.   When I can I plan on planting seeds in large circles with ten trees in the encircling area, and one tree in the center, as well as other areas with eleven trees in a circle, these will grow to be meditation and community centers where people can gather and develop culture together in the future. they will be all around the globe and hundreds of years from now will be considered sacred places. 

THIS PATH OF LIFE

Deepset there in amber time,
in the catacombs sublime, 
where memory and harvest meet,
where winds perfect the storms to greet,
the moments where the sickle streams, 
along the root of windswept fields, 
the magic that the moment wields,
with this the pantomime of soon,
bears witness to the heartfelt boon,
that renders dream from sweating dust, 
dispersed amongst the stars like us,
at his feet he feel's earth speech,
listening for what it's voice may teach,
to silence and the things of wonder,
to decadence and life asunder,
for in his step his purpose sure,
is a path that might endure,
as step cuts stone with stone, 
and bears the path wandered alone,
for in his every step there be, 
the isolated tree, 
in whose dreams the forest be,
a place of refuge for one and all,
His Buddha nature standing tall,
this is but a story time, 
a place where miracles align, 
to bring our paths to this this tree, 
where hearts rhythms make music the heart can see, 
as every step the novice borrows, 
draws us further way from sorrows, 
for in the trials of life be this,
the path that leads to and from bliss, 
a path that dreams are dreaming of,
the path of life itself in love,
with life itself a part, 
of that ever beating heart,
and in the cadence of the step,
the novice learns and grows adept,

and with his venture he is found, 
at the foot of the tree unbound,
by anything but miracles to be,
not unlike this stranding tree,
that holds the sky and stars in place,
for eyes and dreaming dreams to trace,
our place amongst the dreaming sky,
where novice sages dare to try,
to find the path so carved in stone,
that it could find a God Alone,
and bring love to silence the abode,
where tears from heaven worked and showed,
us that the weeping tree can speak, 
about the yearning that we seek,
and if the whispers of the age,
transform this novice to this sage,
he lets out a scream 
a birthing dream,
to play homage to the path,
now emptied of the storms wrath,
as blue skies Meditations transform,
the shelter of all memory,
drawn into instant karma see, 
wherein the step is born again, 
wherein the path is made again,
wherein the dream is dreampt again, 
upon this path of life.