Today I was looking though some of my old notebooks and found one of my old scribblings. I use to write for myself, often by candle light while smoke rings from fresh incense wafted by. I really want to get back into journeying with the pen. I did not date this one like I did most of my other entries but it was either late 2004 or very early 2005. Enjoy.
I walk through the smoky spirals,
through the gates of time.
I see the wood and field.
I see the steam fall
gently down the stony bed.
A deer on the opposite bank
looks up and turns for me
to follow. I leap across the
brook to find myself in a
different place. The doe
just ahead, I walk the path
'til I come to an ancient
grove of oak. Into the thick
I follow. The birds keep an eye
on for I hear them talk.
The narrow trail seems to go
for miles. A clearing. An open
field but forest on all boundaries.
In the center stands a lone
yew. The doe stands there
next to a tall figure. He waits
for me to approach then invites
me to enter, The Tree of Life.
I walk through the smoky spirals,
through the gates of time.
I see the wood and field.
I see the steam fall
gently down the stony bed.
A deer on the opposite bank
looks up and turns for me
to follow. I leap across the
brook to find myself in a
different place. The doe
just ahead, I walk the path
'til I come to an ancient
grove of oak. Into the thick
I follow. The birds keep an eye
on for I hear them talk.
The narrow trail seems to go
for miles. A clearing. An open
field but forest on all boundaries.
In the center stands a lone
yew. The doe stands there
next to a tall figure. He waits
for me to approach then invites
me to enter, The Tree of Life.
RSS Feed