What does a cloud win by drifting there
on wings unseen, on what was uttered
in a silent voice, your Eyes still
hidden in the Night? What does a cloud
win by drifting there on wings unseen,
on a word,a murmer, your whisper from
afar? What does a cloud win by drifting,
drifting in an open sky, and only Sister
Moon to welcome this one homecoming sail,
since by its presence Brother Sun for once
obscured, cannot take part in celebration?
What does it win, and what is there to win?
O Lord, it is Your breath inspiring, Your
silent Word on which we drift, should any
army ask for our surrender it is You we
turn to, and You lift our sail, You make us,
make us drift on wings unseen, and homecoming
then, effortlessly, we wonder: what was there
to win? The answer then is drifting, drifting
there on wings unseen.
What are we looking for, since what we
hope to find has always been at heart.
There is a seagull gliding proudly on
the breeze, waving, calling but we keep
on turning our own wheel of fortune.
How then could we stumble on a hidden
treasure if what we hope to find has always
been at heart? We have forgotten how its
beating was a steady compass even during
stormy weather. We have forgotten how
its silent drum never once let us down.
How could we not but tenderly accept
its offering? What are we hiding from?
Is it our fear to be discovered, to be
left uncovered by the wings of Love?
Then what we’re looking for is not our
heart’s desire, but only heart’s disease,
and to be cured we need to listen to the
seagull’s call. When we are looking for
that hidden treasure then the map is
here, we wrote it on the breeze, waving,
calling, gliding proudly, easily.
(picture taken @ Biarritz, France, Atlantic Ocean)