by Russell Atkinson
The spirit of life itself, you come with each new day’s rebirth, gentler than snow flakes drifting, silent as smoke, slower than the glacier creeps, inevitable as gravity or moments, you seep at each new day’s birth into my slow waking. Slowly as you come, my world emerges from out the mists of dreaming, with the things from out the dense darkness of unheeding night; but upon my closed eyes are not yet come to being. Opened, I see them all dimly, waiting in the gloom to fully be and grow bold and precise as you swell slowly into this little here, you, magic spirit of all seen things.
Why are you so humble that I see through you as though you were not there? Why do you hide behind brightness so I move through you busy doing but never knowing, that like a fish in water, I live in you? And like a sparkle off water, you live in me? Your brightness dazzles. I am blinded by light, because you are so humble, making eyes so you can, unseen, revel in colours, form and food and hide behind shadows.
Bright spirit of all shining things, hiding behind the dazzle of the sun, you are so far, far away, you, soul of my eyes and eyes of my soul. Because you are there, far away, this little brightness is here, watching you coming, and though you shine forever, and my light is but a blink, together we wake the world.
RUSSELL ATKINSON, a retired Naturopath and teacher of Hatha and Raja Yoga, is associated with the Ramakrishna Vedanta Societies in Australia. THEAKO@WESTNET.COM.AU