Yggdrasil

The poet Shelly writes: Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, stains the white radiance of eternity. Mad Kerouac declares: Telepathizing, all thoughts meet in the crystal chandelier of eternity. And in the Gnostic Gospel of Mary, the Magdalene whispers: Henceforth I travel toward repose, where time rests in the eternity of time; I go now into Silence. So I must ask: What if, on an ordinary Sabbath morning, calm as any morning, the blue sky ruptures, rent like the temple veil, and a terrible heaven bursts into the world? Are we prepared? Are we ready to dwell in the miraculous, to live on an earth where nothing, not one atom or one grain of sand, is ordinary anymore, every point and particle of matter filled with that Christal eternity? Last night – but there is never a last night - I dreamed I discovered a lost page of scripture, half burnt, torn from some common book of prayer. Upon it was written: At the center of the forest is not a house, ripped from nature’s wood and stone, shaped of clay baked into bricks  - but a sacred Pine. We dwell in Pineness. Not in a tree, but in the Way of Trees, rooted down through loam, with branches that embrace both East and West, Left and Right, leaves thirsty, prayer-like, touching the sky, blossoms charged with the energy of stars. Could we suffer the ecstasy, the alchemy of awakening, no longer merely human but divine, arboreal, and green?   

Image: Anna Bey, talesofvallhala.com