Meditations: Metta
Beating wings drumming in the distance,
Golden wings that send their echo from afar.
As I breathe, a wave washes over me
Cleansing the coldness from my breath,
And retreating to seek new warmth--
Rising Again with fingertips
that permeate my body,
And caress my soul.
I exhale--
and they withdraw,
Leaving me the seasoned virgin.
Returning now to feathered fancy
and the fleeting song they sing,
I invoke the golden light.
Radiating invisible tendrils,
Spanning the plane of space
And bending time to find you.
In your sullen presence I mock
the movement of the wave,
Becoming now the prism.
Washing you with light.
Breathing again.
The vehicle of your peace.
Projecting and absorbing
In my now amorphous Self.
I watch the lifeless form lying on the beach.
And think on it with delight,
That I just might...
Leave the shell behind.
--Anonymous--
