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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=369330" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Mystic Journey: Fire 1</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">overhead sun is blinding. when we stare into<br>it, then turn aside, the world seems cold<br>and dark. a moment before it was warm<br>and bright. peered at through a pile of old</div><div style="margin:10px 0">photograph negatives, it's a pale fire mortal<br>eyes can endure, but only a moment in time.<br>and so we must wait, not being allowed<br>to look upon the raw flame until we can see</div><div style="margin:10px 0">only a blood red wafer being swallowed<br>into the mouth of dying day, as when day<br>itself dissolves into the cold, dark underbelly<br>of night. we must wait for that time when</div><div style="margin:10px 0">layers of rose-color cloud mask the weary<br>fire, stripping it of its power. wait then<br>with the wise who say, 'dusk is climax of day, '<br>a replay of recent themes. then what can</div><div style="margin:10px 0">be said of an alberta* sunset in late autumn? <br>as the mythic mask painted on a character<br>in an ancient chinese opera whose expression<br>of emotion, precise as a surgical incision, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">is made by knitting and untying of muscle, <br>the changeless face of dusk is changed by<br>the clash and recoil of clouds. death of day<br>begins with the scent of dust in brushing</div><div style="margin:10px 0">wind. then the eye walks amid cool pastel<br>wood. gold rays gild green trees, turning<br>them to brass flutes. browning leaves tinkle<br>like triangles in darkening air. the blood</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and breath slow. the busy brain sleeps.<br>anything that stills burning blood is good.<br>the second movement will start with a sweep<br>of the eye, but first it is earth we notice, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">its sounds and shades most familiar to us.<br>we feel the good in its pervading presence, <br>an unconscious matrix we instinctively trust.<br>yet we are water beings. wrenched from womb, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">our first gulp of alien air felt like fire.<br>that sheer terror stays with us. the nether<br>gulp we fear too. so earth does not satisfy<br>for long mind's need to know more than eye</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and ear can know.- the earth is not our home.<br>so the quest for a reality less changeable<br>than momentary delights felt in beautiful<br>sights, sounds, smells and tastes begins! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">*Alberta, Canada</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>on deck: 'mystic journey: fire 2' sept.29</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Doug+Bentley">Doug Bentley</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=369330" data-title="Mystic Journey: Fire 1 de Doug Bentley" data-description="overhead sun is blinding. when we stare into
it, then turn aside, the world seems cold
and dark. a moment before it was warm
and bright. peered at through a pile of old

photograph negatives, it's a pale fire mortal
eyes can endure, but only a mom..."></div>
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