*

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

I hear

a garden.

Literal?

Metaphor?

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