soundofmanywaters

    So I planted the garden for you. To guard it, a hedge of sweet myrtle, Within it, lily of the valley, rue and rose To keep me scented of you till you come. All through it of course there must flow A stream of limpid water, Running and singing and shining From a broken jar of clay.   And come at last you do – but why must you Ignore my gate, break down my hedge And trample my flowers? Why could you not linger on the lawn I laid for you, but must go straight ahead (my hedge again!), leaving only an irresistible scent, and the faint echo of a call?   So I followed in your steps, that led After many days to a high rugged hill And a torrent that thundered With the sound of many waters. Far away and small my shattered garden. It seemed you had a wider field to walk, Immersing me into a deeper stream.   And at the summit, you at last, Plainly waiting for me. “Lie down here. Gaze into heaven till it becomes...

    Come beauteous sleep O most reluctant bride Kiss my recurrent mind with bliss of oblivion.   Is there a word for that endless recycling of the same few inanities? Oh whisper the counter-curse!   Oh cut the chain that binds me to the surface in joyless bobbing and jinking: That I may slide into the deep.   Together we will search through swell and ebb and depth for the Peace that holds all wholeness and the Rhythm that is rest.