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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=476972" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Things I Must Say To You The Crystal Said</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Things I must say to you the crystal said. <br>Jewels I must turn in the light. <br>Things I have gathered <br>like wild herbs from the starfields <br>to make a cool poultice of the moon<br>to draw the pain out of the wound<br>like a child that got turned around<br>when she was born <br>on the nightside of her blue eyes<br>to colour outside the lines of her constellation<br>like one of the original watersheds of Aquarius<br>that didn't take to the bottle and spoon of lesser wells<br>that warily sip from themselves <br>as if they were testing for poison, <br>but poured herself out <br>in an elation of so many lifelines <br>so many rivers vital with beginnings <br>the world mountain discovered her <br>like gold in the stone<br>gold in the mindstream <br>gold in the ore of its bones<br>gold that shone even in the darkest of valleys <br>wherever she flowed <br>like the white moon <br>when it wants to be mistaken for a swan<br>and sheds her eyelids like the petals of a waterlily <br>that's gone, gone, gone beyond herself<br>like a waterbird into the undetectable mystery of things<br>that lifts us up from our own reflections <br>and calls us to exceed ourselves <br>by flying beyond our own wings <br>past the last lake at the end of the universe <br>we could bask in like a keyhole <br>in the third eye of an unrelenting sky.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">There. That's a breathful.<br>A dust-devil in a gust of stars. <br>A precipitous river of my own. <br>But I like listening to the green mountains <br>talk about things that are perennially true <br>that no one ever believes. <br>There's inspiration in the fires <br>that inspires their leaves <br>to burn like old myths <br>and poems that went up in flames <br>true to the muse of autumn <br>that has forgotten their names. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I'm listening to this little world mountain <br>this dolmen of a crystal you gave me <br>this palace of mirrors<br>that sits above my desk<br>and tells me things about you<br>only an older spirit than the road I'm on could know.<br>It whispers to me at night <br>like a fragrance of light <br>from the unseen flowers<br>behind your eyes <br>flowing down from the high fields<br>and unscalable facets <br>of the mystic mountain you live upon <br>planting trees. <br>Abruptly enlightened medieval Rinzai Zen masters<br>did the same <br>in the mountains of Japan<br>as if they were rooting their pupils <br>like worlds within worlds <br>within a grain of sand<br>like the cornerstone of it all.<br> <br>Trees are the future memories <br>of a prophetic skull<br>that stays true to its ancestors <br>like pines in the fall. <br>Anyone who plants a tree <br>raises a temple to the wisdom of birds <br>who will speak to you <br>in the native tongue of a new language <br>in voices older than words.<br>Anyone who plants a tree <br>attains what lives beyond them like an afterlife<br>that's always rooted in now<br>and even the dead branch<br>that holds the autumn crow in the rain<br>when things are bleak with the passage of things <br>will turn into a strong rafter in the house of life <br>and the moon will add its blossom to it <br>and the sun its butterfly<br>and everything that grows <br>will greet you as a child of its own.<br>And life will hold you up <br>like a candle<br>like a Douglas fir <br>like a star<br>like the tiered pagoda<br>of a pine-cone<br>like a mirror<br>like a bird <br>like a quiet smile <br>in the sweetest of solitudes<br>and well-pleased with what you've sown<br>hang you like a thousand shining chandeliers of rain <br>in the sacred groves of the Pleiades<br>to show you what has grown over the years<br>from the labours you undertook <br>from the tears you shed<br>to green the wounded mountain back to health <br>by adding your life to its life<br>is you returning <br>like a prodigal daughter of water <br>to the mystic springs<br>of your own starcrazy source. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ride the wave. <br>Ride the snake. <br>Ride the wind.<br>Ride the fire. <br>Ride your own eyebeam <br>like a sword that delivers <br>the boon of life <br>like the first word <br>of a new universe <br>that's just heard its name called <br>like an endless beginning. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">You are comet. You are wheat. You are starwheat.<br>You're a comet in the starwheat <br>making crop circles. <br>Aquarius. <br>Aquarians can take their skin off <br>and put it on again like water<br>and pour themselves out forever<br>like the sea in every dropp <br>so when the tide returns <br>it's never empty-handed. <br>I see a naked watersnake <br>swimming through the moonlight<br>like the path of something perpetually true<br>and inconceivably beautiful<br>as if time itself had learned to move like that<br>and every ripple was an era <br>widening its wingspan in its wake. <br>Hic sunt dracones.<br>That's how dragons learned to fly. <br>The highest and the lowest all in one.<br>The snake in the claws of the eagle.<br>Wisdom in the lawlessness of insight. <br>God.<br>You.<br>Me.<br>The Mysterium.<br> <br>For those who haven't opened <br>the eyes in their blood yet<br>to see the bloodflowers <br>the bloodstars <br>talking to each other <br>like variations of the same light<br>these visions are the lost dream grammar <br>of an ancient madness <br>you can't recover from like a fever. <br>But to those who know the fireflies <br>are lamps on the road<br>the stars are not useless <br>and everywhere is the clarity and passage<br>of a river that forever arrives. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And I can see the wounded child <br>who's brave about her pain <br>but feels like a ladder in the rain <br>no one will hold for her <br>to climb down like the moon from her window.<br>And those that should have been waiting down below <br>to catch her if she falls <br>have scattered like stars<br>on the insides of her eyelids when she blinks. <br>Abandonment is that hollow shell <br>you find washed up somewhere on a beach <br>and raise to your ear <br>to hear the sea far off<br>like a life that's going on without you.<br>Even the sea can't fill that cup. <br>Only another emptiness <br>could feel at home <br>in the homelessness of that space. <br>Abandonment is getting up every morning <br>and putting your face on inside out <br>and thinking of it as some kind of good luck<br>you're on the other side of the universe<br>all on your own. <br>And though you howl like a wolf on the wind <br>the moon still cannot hear you. <br>That's how longing is born <br>in the fires of separation; <br>that's how the universe is called <br>every moment out of the nothingness<br>like someone to love, <br>and the deeper and darker the emptiness <br>the higher and brighter the mountain. <br>The watershed holds the fountain up <br>like a bouquet to the rain.<br>Emptiness doesn't stand like a god <br>in the shadow of an unknown definition. <br>It's the selflessness of everything that is.<br>Unborn it lives without distinction in the heart of things.<br>Unperishing it dies for everyone <br>without leaving anyone out.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When insight blossoms <br>like the moon<br>on a dead branch<br>compassion's the fruit <br>that's always in reach.<br>Life doesn't practise <br>what the heartless teach. <br> <br>This morning <br>I'm sitting at the feet <br>of your little crystal buddha <br>enthroned in full lotus position <br>as he turns my heart in the light<br>like a jewel in the eye of a diamond-cutter.<br>And the sky is generous with tears <br>as it clarifies the windows of perception <br>with eyes as old and wise <br>as the sun at midnight.<br>And every thought I have of you is a fierce peace. <br>And every feeling a black mirror<br>deeper than white <br>that has extinguished my face <br>like one of last night's stars <br>in the bliss of a greater illumination.<br>The mystic specificity of my mind <br>pales like the moon <br>in a blinding abyss <br>of no-minded indistinction.<br>And the stars that shone down on nothing for so long <br>like an indecipherable language <br>are now looking up at you<br>like the fountainmouth<br>high above the treeline<br>in the mountains <br>of an Aquarian understanding <br>of what they've always meant to say. <br>There are no echoes in the voices of love.<br>No avalanche of Rosetta Stones. <br>No scoffing crows. <br>No genuflections of the dove.<br>There are no shadows hiding like daggers <br>under the cloaks of day <br>to get even at noon <br>for things that happened at midnight.<br>Love is a feather <br>from a passing bird in flight<br>life puts into the scales <br>and the earth turns eastward toward the light<br>and death takes its finger off the measure<br>of life's most cherished treasure.<br> <br>And now the buddha turns into <br>two lovers sitting upright<br>face to face<br>in a lotus embrace<br>of enlightened connubium<br>in a coincidence of the contradictories<br>as if two were not the extinction of one.<br>And when desire opens its flames like petals <br>and blooms like a phoenix <br>there are no strangers in the fire.<br>And love doesn't burn its feet <br>by making a firewalk <br>of the nameless constellation <br>rising from the dark innocence <br>of its sweet dreamless sleep<br>like the thirteenth house of the zodiac <br>with two people home from everywhere<br>with myths of their own<br>like Venus and Mars <br>turning the lights on and off <br>like lovers and stars<br>while the neighbours stare in amazement<br>through closed windows and locked doors<br>at the bright vacancy of the rumours<br>the dark abundance of the night <br>that knows all we are and do<br>and will and have done <br>is true to the overproof joy I take <br>in this lyric of a jewel in the light.<br>It turns me like your eyes<br>turning the key in the dark gate <br>of a mystic moonrise<br>where fate elaborates the worlds <br>like pearls from grains of sand<br>and time refires its last hour <br>like a master glass blower <br>to make more space <br>for stars in the desert at night<br>by breathing on the flames<br>that feather the ashes of the moths <br>in the urns of our names<br>with the wings<br>of a dragon<br>the wings of a phoenix<br>the wings of a sphinx in the rain<br>planting trees on the slopes of a pyramid<br>to watch the dead mountain grow green again <br>and know all the secret paths down into its afterlife<br>like a river running through the wilderness<br>or this theme of stars on the mindstream<br>beguiled by the mystic wiles<br>of a cougar caught in the moonlight<br>like a jewel in the eye of a dreamcatcher.<br>Or the seasoned seer in a mirror like me<br>enraptured by the anarchic fireflies <br>beading themselves <br>like the mandalic stars<br>of a new constellation<br>only the enlightened can see <br>enflamed like a prophecy<br>empowered by love<br>to rise in the night of your name.</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=476972" data-title="Things I Must Say To You The Crystal Said de Patrick White" data-description="Things I must say to you the crystal said. 
Jewels I must turn in the light. 
Things I have gathered 
like wild herbs from the starfields 
to make a cool poultice of the moon
to draw the pain out of the wound
like a child that got turned around
wh..."></div>
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