Wayfaring

 

Wayfaring

 

If I search the universe for proof

of existence

to dispel the churning

theories of the mind

  pronouncing

 we are nothing more than

 illusions of light,

then I find no evidence of life.

 

The echoes of voices

and the soundings of the sea,

the flickering images on the screen

of the sky

give no affirmation

that we are truly here in this time

 and place,

or that this is now.

 

What if we are simply

flittering images

passing through a brain

that imagines us?

My heart whispers a secret

to remind me

who I am.

 

Only love is real.

When I love and feel,

I am real.

All else disappears

and only love remains,

for only love would start again

and create us all anew.

 

How could we be anything

at all without

 another heart to love?

Love is compelled

to create and express what it feels,

for love seeks only love.

 

If  I close my eyes and clear

my mind,

surrender all I am,

 remain at rest in perfect peace,

it is my heart

arousing me from silence

to rise up and move

toward love.

 

Love is attracted to love

to seek its likeness,

If we are created

in the image of a creator,

then we are the living truth

and proof of love.

 

The mind bows willingly

to serve the lover,

but turns mute and mindless

when commanded

by a tyrant who lives only

to destroy the purity

of a heart.

 

Life is a mirage without love,

until the word becomes a risen lord,

a beloved, who appears

when the lover calls

and swings open

the door to the paradise

of the heart.

 

When we hear the crooning of lovers,

 the noise of the world

is drowned in their songs,

and the earth

becomes a garden,

awakened by the remembrance

of the beloved waiting

in each heart.

 

 

Naomi