not really, when the mystery of Light
wells up in the pools of her eyes.
I only know that she is of the free ones,
the beautiful ones, who dance
on God’s seas of fiery glass
and sing songs like glorious birds,
of clarity, and spiritual joy.
She has embraced life so completely
that even the trees have welcomed her,
remembering her childhood play,
her sensitivities and quiet curiosity.
They recall, in their slow, deep memories,
her little feet on their roots,
her hands in the leaves of their hair,
as if she was their lover, one of their
skin covered mothers,
And she is a friend… to more than trees,
or grass, or the soft flowers she senses
and loves…. but to the old and sick ones,
wounded by their own mortality
and drawing close with trembling hearts
and hands to the boarder lands of death.
She can go there with them,
sit by their side, put those same healing fingers
that caressed the bark of trees
lightly on the sides of their faces,
or on their hair, and speak from her heart
living words that they might ride
into that fearful night like birds of Light,
like a quiet song.
“All is well, little gullig, she whispers,
knowing this in the windy places
of her beautiful heart.
“All is well, and shall be well…”
Her spirit speaks it, her warm human being
tells it, and because of this they know,
they feel this truth is real.
She was born to be a comedian.
Perhaps she doesn’t realize this,
doesn’t recognize what a gift it is
to see the craziness in everything,
or to feel God’s own humor
bubbling up in the fountain of her
free forgiveness, of her warm welcoming
of all Life brings to her:
whether panic or exultation, pain
or the sweetness of feeling
warm skin enter her to make her cry out
beyond the boarders of her Swedish
shyness. “Your neighbors…” she always says…
when we make love up into that place
where all control is lost for good,
and I whisper back, “It’s good for them too
to hear, and remember Life’s passion
in your wild cries.
She is as innocent as a playful child
when she explores my body
with her curious lips and tongue
and makes me wonder how I can be
so blessed by the Great Ones
who carefully designed such ecstasy
in those creative studios
of their ancient skies
for she heals me with her hands
and laugher, and gratitude
that she has the honor of healing me,
that she can kiss my years of lonely solitude
and transform pain into ecstatic pleasure,
longing into gratitude to God for her,
for her warm kindness,
for her dancing being,
for her courage to embrace
even the electric body of anxiety,
the small lightning body of pain
and transform them too into Love.
In this, the forest girl,
who once rode a pet cow,
has become a secret Queen,
a royal being, a poetess,
one of the beautiful Ones
again, here, clothed in silky skin,
wearing her gorgeous dresses,
gladly serving others because
in her deep heart she recalls
that in the deathless lands of Light
from which she came
everyone lives for the highest good:
as she does here, with me,
with them, with her little ones,
with us all.