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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476908" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Earth Hides Nothing From You</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">The earth hides nothing from you<br>when its time comes to be revealed.<br>Not the bones of the dead, not the green wind<br>blowing on the young leaves of the maple <br>to see if it still remembers how to break into flame<br>or the loaded horse-hair brushes of the flowers <br>trying to decide what colours to apply first <br>to the blue-toned underpainting of the sky on their easel.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And this is the essential freedom of information act.<br>Walking with a thoughtful, cooly blissful, festive spirit <br>on a windy night by a spring lake trying on stars <br>like earrings to go with the season like crocuses<br>realizing, as if you weren't there alone, though you are, <br>how inestimably unique and precious it seems<br>just to be aware of this lake in the moonlight<br>trying to grow waterlilies in her Mars black hair<br>and one wild iris, because she's obviously French.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I can tell by the way the eddies and ripples <br>circle and tendril the sensuous undulance <br>of her dark depths, and the way she's eyeing me <br>as I toe my way along the path I'm making up on the go, <br>she's intrigued and modestly threatened <br>or she's got other things on her mind <br>if I'm meant to know, I'll know, in her good time, not mine<br>because there is no birth or death in the present moment, <br>it doesn't have a future, it doesn't have a past, <br>and it flashes by so fast, it hasn't even happened yet <br>so everything is still and silent and timeless<br>and yet nothing is hidden, nothing held back. <br>Everything's shining out like a star <br>that can't keep what it knows to itself.<br>And any lingering question <br>of who you might have been is everywhere<br>reflected in the universe like a face in a mirror <br>with no one standing in front of it. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Something deep within and without me seems <br>to humanize the lake in my mother-tongue <br>and how astoundingly wonderful just to listen <br>to the lake's accent when she answers back <br>in a language I can fully understand is universal, <br>rich with metaphors and similitudes that are the bloodlines <br>of everything in existence rooted in a grammar of dark matter<br>that can be as eloquent as the stars <br>when it waxes lyrical in spring, its uncontainable heart<br>overbrimming with joy at the return of the nightbirds. <br>The great, blue, lunar heron and the solar ray of the osprey <br>returning after long absence to their nests, <br>like lost jewels to a ring, eyes to the skull of a blind seer, <br>high in the Ys of the dead trees that look like harpoons<br>and dangerous tuning forks and witching wands <br>out whaling for water, stuck in the flukes of the lake.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Evanescent shape-shifters in the vagrant emptiness<br>learning to read each other like a star group, <br>say, the Pleiades, the daughters of Atlas, <br>the cornerstone of the world it upholds like a starmap <br>adjusting our eyes, our seeing, our unreasonable being here at all, <br>to the light and gravity of everything around us <br>in harmony with a life that's never <br>at peace with itself creatively <br>to keep the wild grapevines growing like grails <br>that everyone seeks like sweetness and light<br>at the root of the truth of themselves, as soon<br>they'll be sipping bliss from the towering stars<br>like ruby-throated hummingbirds from the larkspur.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Be empty as a cracked cup or an eyeless skull<br>and know what it is to be filled <br>by a lake that takes the low place so you <br>can flow into it like a bloodbank into the lifestream<br>of the spring run off of winter stars thawing in the dark hills<br>like patchy galaxies of snow that have found a way <br>to get off their islands by realizing <br>one wavelength of light<br>one wavelength of water <br>one wavelength of thought or insight<br>one wavelength of love and compassion<br>one wavelength of a seeker with a mindful heart <br>is all the flowing of the same night creek <br>growing into consciousness like a stranger <br>we come face to face with as it dawns upon us <br>emerging out of this dream of a self <br>like a dragonfly from its chrysalis, <br>like the wet sapphire of an eye<br>from the dark abundance of the seed <br>that prophesied that it would be so, <br>the best way to navigate your way <br>on this ocean of awareness even if you're shipwrecked<br>like these dead trees at the bottom of the lake<br>with herons in your crow's nest <br>is to take your hand off the wheel and let go. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let go the way an archer releases a bird from a power line<br>or the first purple marten of the year <br>from the blossoming bow of an alder branch<br>hung with catkins in keeping with the fourth month <br>of Bran in the Celtic calendar and the letter, Fearn, <br>in the Druidic way of speaking to trees<br>to ask for directions through life and death and beyond<br>as if they'd made a library out of the whole forest <br>by listening to the wind in an alder copse<br>in a language the alders understood <br>they spoke in common with the water stars <br>of the blind and enlightened alike. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And if there's no one to fall in love with, <br>or out of, this time of the night starwalk<br>the circuitous blossoming of your way<br>deep into a nearby grove sometime, <br>along the shoreline of the improbable concourse<br>of the way of things like a wild grapevine<br>gave up being on the go, for growing, <br>once it got a taste of its own wine, <br>and watching the Pleiades like crown jewels <br>in the burgundy upper branchs of a birch<br>closer to heaven than you could ever <br>have imagined you could be, <br>fall in love with a lake with a French accent<br>and the soul of a Celtic sybil, and doing <br>what the moon does with her lunar sword unsheathed<br>lay your silver tribute down upon her waters.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Patrick+White">Patrick White</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=476908" data-title="The Earth Hides Nothing From You de Patrick White" data-description="The earth hides nothing from you
when its time comes to be revealed.
Not the bones of the dead, not the green wind
blowing on the young leaves of the maple 
to see if it still remembers how to break into flame
or the loaded horse-hair brushes of t..."></div>
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