I am the incomprehensible silence,*
early morning mist whispers over the meadow
spider silk glistens from branch to mailbox
dew-dropped webs cloud the grass
goldenrod sparks yellow in first light
I am cast forth on the face of the Earth.
In my old slippers and last year’s trench coat
I walk the long gravel drive
and talk to God
and…the voice of many sounds,
Oh, Great Invisible, Mother Spirit,
(I don’t know to whom I speak)
who speaks in bird calls,
whistles, chirps, the swish of tires
a rustle of oak leaves
the sigh of the pines
who will translate?
the word in many forms;
Dig is the word
Plant new seeds: delphiniums or determination? Coreopsis or confidence?
Pull out weeds: purslane or self-pity? Nettles or negativity?
Am I too old to do this alone?
*excerpts from Thunder, Complete Mind, from the Nag Hammadi gnostic gospels, Why Religion? by Elaine Pagels