Sunlight Blesses The World

 

Not a single thing is commanded
to be other
than it is, except by
old words of old men

sunlight blesses the world
as it is
demands nothing
from its fierce kiss
from its soft caress
from its bleached winter observance.

The air which embraces
a whole planet
of which I breath this very minute
and now also
Of which you breath
and the watchful crow
and the trees of divinity
and the jeweled fish
and the fly shimmering like coal

This air, the great nutrition,
asks not that wings be fins
that all creatures be collected
into species and forgotten.
That people be measured.
That mere thoughts corral
the teeming behind walls.

Asks not that a face be handsome
or that success is earned
That failure can ever be final

It loves by its lightness
infiltrating blood and sap
with its fire
exploding this one planet with
love, life, travail, peace.
With beauty, with decay, with rebirth.

a song without end, a master piece
of form and grace.

A place of journeys in lostness.

A multitude of exploration

A symphony of mistakes, attainment, of returning.

Not a single thing is commanded.
Wanderers of time may enter
dark valleys but
unfinishedness will always bring
air, bring light.

Nowhere along waterways
through Hemlock forests
among spore dotted sword ferns
beside fragrant sagebrush
on green mountains beneath
the blue curve of northern skies

Nowhere among glistening stones
flecked with crystal
Will you find the command to be anything
other than what you are

All things are beings
we all live in the tilt of unfinishedness
We are together in this strange theater
fed by the same blood
nurtured in infancy,
supported in maturation by mystery.

nothing ever stops for long
even rock rides toward stars
like slow waves
returning teeming ancient life
to the rhythm of wetting, drying
brushing and polishing of seasons,
to the joy of Spring.

Violence done to another is
self-inflicted, settling like a perpetual irritation
in considering, in feeling, in the cold echoes of isolation
Love eventually brings its catastrophes
fierce teacher devoid of punishment.

The hardened heart cannot live
in its dark cave forever.
It’s falling is its rising.

This I have been told
by places with sedge and trickling water
by birds, by cats, and people never met.
By the green poetry of grass and trees
by the grace of winter light.

When I put down the whip,
put down the sword, the ruler.
When commandments are revealed as
mere paper.
I discover the blessing,

we discover the blessing.

 

Thomas Martin

 

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