In the forest of my dreams some leaves
are wandering, I wonder whether they
will walk me home, from tree to tree I
keep on walking but the snow keeps
coming in, as if an unseen hand is there
to cover all my thoughts, to sleep is to
return, then I see you, I close my eyes
now, it is time to pray, O, walk with me,
to be a leave and wander through these
woods, sweet fragrance of a lullaby, O,
come with me and I will sing to wake you
up, from tree to tree then walk with me
and when we reach the mountaintop
then dream with me, so to the forest we
will be as to the snow these wandering
leaves.
(Wrote this in a period I can describe as my “Dark Night Of The Soul” (cfr St John of the Cross) > in deep despair I felt as if there was some invisible Force, “an unseen hand that pushed me back” to life > since then I know that wherever Life’s journey takes you, in whathever abyss you might find yourself, you have to trust & belief (100%!) that there always is “an unseen hand” upon which you can rely for support, even in the eye of death… Believe our Souls, all Souls are breathing in this “Womb Of Being”. Ave + 🙂
Enclosed I roam from star to star,
I travel endlessly, I whisper and
my breath unfolds behind me as
a vale, a shooting star, a comet
on its way and growing, growing
with each light-year passing by,
O yes, there is much pleasure in this
roaming , it is creation of a Master
Plan and still this roaming is
continuing, and when from time
to time I reach the boundaries of
my confinement, I feel a sudden
shiver, as if some unseen hand is
there to push me back, or could it
be the vale behind that keeps on
coming back, I wonder. So here I
am, inside and out, no matter
how the journey goes, there always
will be worlds to enter and others
then to leave behind, the roaming
will continue , on and on, no
ending, no beginning, so is the
roaming in the Womb of Being,
the cavern of A Master’s Plan.
(picture taken through my van’s windshield @ Cap Gris Nez, France)
O little bird how graciously you sing,
while night is darkening your wings,
you are the Herald of the morning,
my hands are open for your offering,
there is my Heart, O little bird, your
soft whisper, your silent touch, I can’t
ignore, O, little bird, you Prophet
of the Dawn to come, my hands are
opening for your offering, my ears are
singing, all in tune, O little bird, my eyes
are closed in darkness, I keep wandering
into the night, breathing in, breathing out,
I offer you my heart, I welcome you into
my Soul, O little bird, how graciously you
sing, while night is darkening your wing.
music by Robert Schuman, Forrest Scenens, Op.82/7, The Prophet Bird
Shall I then look with both my eyes? Shall
I then see a glimpse of Paradise? Or shall I
look with my eye right, or better still, the one
eye left? O Lord, to have a look at You is out
of league, to dance with You my legs are lame,
but still You keep inviting me, You keep on
looking for my inward eye, You keep on dancing
while my legs are lame, O Lord Your dance really
is out of league, but when blinded, cripple, deaf
and lame I stumble, then I see, my eyes right,
not left behind, O yes, I see, I see the glittering
dome of Paradise, it was the inward eye indeed,
the compass You imprinted in my Soul, as is the
graveyard Light to Souls at rest, so is Your Light
to me, in Peace now I can live, in Love my Soul
with You will be, eternally.
Wachten tot de wind over het water dan verkleurt, tot golf wordt, langzaam opzweept tot aan kusten ogen zich dan openen om deze geuren te ontvangen, wachten tot de wind over het water dan van kleur verandert, wolk wordt en zich over golven buigt om zee te worden, één te worden, regenboog die alle hemels overspant, wachten tot de wind over het water dan verkleurt, het is een langzaam wachten, een geduldig vouwen en ontvouwen tot vleugels zich over de adem plooien en dan opnemen, oplichten tot helder weten, tot doorzichtigheid, tot aangespoeld het water borrelt uit de bron die helderziendheid predikt voor de pelgrims van de hoop, wachten tot de wind over het water dan dit water zegent, alsof het wolken regent, damp geworden golven die nu over al dat wachten heen een schitterend schijnen werpen, oogverblindend, O, en kijk hoe dan dit kijken door alles heen de waarheid toont, alle verdriet en pijn plots weggespoeld, iets nieuws, de wind legt bloot wat ooit in daglicht onmiddellijk werd gesmoord door molenstenen, door hebzucht, haat en pest, gedrenkt in bloed, O ja, het is iets nieuws, het wachten waard, het wachten tot de wind over het water dan verkleurt, en zie: plots baadt alles in groen Licht, het Licht dat wordt geboren als de Liefde oogverblindend zegeviert, zoals dit Kind dat haver aanbiedt, haver aan een ezel, langs een haven aan de Gaverbeek.
Boutman 