Photo courtesy National Park Service Bryce Canyon
From we to I and back to me. I entered this canyon at night to see, what Henry David Thoreau, wrote by his hand freely. His words rang through my memory. “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see”.
Draw breath from here this spring filled life, by flowing river so wild in tide that moves from rock and drowns some too. Thin air that forces a mind of good. Take now thy fault that has grown so cold that guilty conscience of seeds so old, and throw it forward beneath this wash, let foamy waters take now it all. Come forward sky; drop now Gibbous Moon, let sounds nearby now vanish soon. Bring forth the ghost that hold my soul, let them drown knowing I gave them all. Let sin go now beneath my feet in this crazy water on to the sea. Old things made new, from what can be, arise in gladness, harmony.
Impale the blame that holds defeat, O tall slender pines these spikes of trees. That gather branches held in three’s, that root this canyon from all unseen. This eco-system overgrown holds spells of craft of old-time dreams, of spirits gone beyond our view, a sudden chill passes understood. For what is called from up above these rocky walls, echoes align, to bring this man by this cold stream, to swear to cleanse, and know the sheen. Thou shine above from that cold moon, Shekinah earth of lower womb, and cast my way into this stream, let all creation of creator sing. About me here where deer would stay, comes flowing ribbons in G_Ds own name. For night has come it is understood, I summon circles for what I would.
Draw breath from here this spring filled life; a baptized man would dry his eyes. For magic comes with what we do, in streams of old, in modern woods. To let go pain in canyons deep, to rise to G_D whom with we speak. From we to I and back to me, the womb of canyon the ark I seek. So, through a pathway over grown, I walked in June to find my home. I followed down by rocks and trees, while unseen spirits guarded me.
From we to I and back to me. I entered this canyon at night to see, what Henry David Thoreau, wrote by his hand freely. His words rang through my memory. “It’s not what you look at that matters, it’s what you see”. – 06.06.2018 – דָנִיֵּאל