Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Spirit's Spiral Into Flesh

We found a carving in the rock.

“It's the labyrinth,” Breanna said. “Do you know the way the it's drawn?”

"Show me how."

“It's like drawing life itself!" She reached down to the sand to trace it out. "With infinite wideness we begin and then define a point.

“What intent has set in motion that first touch, so that we enter matter’s realm? What lightning brought us here, what thunderclap?

Four directions work to hem your spirit in. Four winds take up their dance to set it free.

“Now begins the spirit’s spiral into flesh, bending circles round it as it goes.
A dance to clothe itself with elements.

Shadows gather as the circles turn. Though still the spirit knows: It’s home is not inside the point or the circles’ flight. Not yet are you entirely fixed inside, looking out at all the rest.

"Soon enough the shadows settle in,
so much weather now where only sky had been.

“As you make a nest in darkness and you fold your wings to sleep, be sure to leave umbilical enough for dreams to come and go with their thin memories of light.

“See what a fist you make! An enclosure for the shadows you have seized, everything you decide to call your own.

And here you are, inside this spiral-dance you call a self, scarce remembering that first touch so long ago. That first point; the four winds’ gathering; the infinite before the shadows circled round — all obscured, so soon forgot, though something in you knows:

You are the thunder’s child. An errant spark the lightning goes out searching for, to unwind the labyrinth and join you to itself again.
A fire no elements can hold for long.


By James Saint Cloud

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