There is a dance. Its movement is the wheeling stars,
the thrash of trees in a gale, the weave of swallows,
the surge of rivers and tides of the sea,
the silver flash of a fish, the ecstatic play of dolphins.
It is the movement of hands to heal bodies and hearts,
the tender touch of one finger, the slow way a flower bud
lets go and softens,
the magical movement of a man’s fearless strength
and a woman’s twirling freedom melting
into something that trembles alive, softer then flowers.
I love it when you let everything fall away
and become the dance of sky,
Earth, sea in arms, hips, whirling legs — the dance itself in flesh.
Your eyes are sky. Your mind the magical mirror
in which a god or goddess gazes
with innocent eyes and weeps and laughs,
so in love with stories, with dramatic games!
Oh… may I read this book of Life to the world with you:
may we sing it, chant it, dance it, sculpt, it, act it — write it into being.
This is the way of beautify growing to transform all things.
This is the final triumph of insubstantial dream
becoming clouds of ecstatic birds,
the lick of a lion on the face of a lamb, the eyes of children
as windows to the face of God.
We are dying into Pure Being: melting, settling in:
we are awakening.
This is the Way of Love’s wild, creative happening.
This is the birth of a great and beautiful Freedom.