I wonder sometimes
that such a one should enter my life,
when I, unprepared, unformed,
am moving forward into living it.
That I should be asked to create for you
space, and life, and movement
when only now I claim those for myself.
Why, at such a time,
with so many goals and thoughts,
desires unspoken in the heart,
you should come like the wind,
from unknown places
As we circle each other
in uncertain longing for truths we have not yet touched
briefly, fleetingly, through our dreams
the Universe lays herself at our feet.
and I am struck, always and forever,
by her timing and space.
Intersecting in this moment, at this place
are answers to questions, neither you nor I
have dared to dream, though they have driven me
across landscapes and into corners
from which the only way out
was through the mess and pain and loneliness
into the uncertain, flickering light beyond.
I have risked much to be here, beloved of my soul,
spark of Fire, and Truth, and Wisdom.
And yet, even now I hesitate.
For when I move, you disappear.
Into the mists of longing and regret,
torn free from moorings, so delicate,
that too sudden a movement
startles you to flight, scenting danger in the wind.
You are gone, and silence fills the space
and time where once you were.
I desire, though my yearning has no shape or name
in the darkness of this solitary space.
Perhaps it is that longing that you fear
as it speaks to the yearnings of your own.
We are yet afraid to dance with life,
bound to the shadows, observers.
But life has found us, there in the shadows
of your longing, and of mine.
She is calling us to freedom
and the light of the Universe,
dancing patterns invisible to the human eye.
Hidden from the weakness of our sapien perceptions,
it is truly only with the heart that we can see.
Ah, beloved, what is it that we fear?
That the power will be too strong?
That we, consumed by life set free,
will burn to ashes, and pass, once more invisible,
into the realms of myth and mystery?
Though your human memory may yet long for certainty
there are, in the end, only the stories to guide us.
For Mystery was my mother, Myth raised me.
And we are always and forever, returning home.
Fiona Mackintosh (© 2002, 2018)