The Light-Potters

When I into my heart-soul peer,
As though into a pool of lucid
Silence I see: a depth too clear
To measure, yet within it unseen
Currents urge: a hidden drift,
Pervasions of an imminence.

My being then is only thus:
The body of my mind no thicker than
White light bright through clear crystal;
And through and through and through I gaze,
Discerning no demons or darkness
Or mazing walls at all to clutter
The simplicity of my seeing.

I stand upon a mountain peak,
Surveying a hundred miles around
Through air as pure and bright and chill
As a tripping mountain brook
Frolicking down from the snows to the seas.

(The place I stand is but another vantage
Like a dozen other points I see
Convened around about, resplendent all
In an august cloud-mantled majesty.)

This whale I ride's a crystal beast
Whose blood and bone are light itself,
Whose heart is as the morning sun
Within her glowing body's orbit,
Whose mind is as the galaxies
Sprinkled through the winter's night.
Whose thoughts are as the shimmering
Showers of light reflecting from
A rippling lake.

Upon this mighty power of mind
I sail the seas of being down —
A pebble on a glacier's back,
But by it made its lifted eye,
The pyramid's prime focus,
The watch upon the main top mast,

The toll of the cathedral's bell
That carries through the countryside:
And every ear and house and garden
I strike I touch with gentleness,
And every hill or wood or stream
I sound I stroke as softly as
A fragrant echo:

And on from each to every other
Thus re-echo me, a sense of sound
Re-animate through all the life
Of all this land I course, as gleeful
And as giddy as a meadowlark,
As sprightly as a butterfly,
As sure and yielding as a breeze,
As warm and loving as a blanket
Of pure-laid light.

I am the willows and the pines,
The oaks and the apple-trees,
Who in our wind-tickled leaves
Embrace the light of being and
Conduct it willingly into
The earth — this large and lucent earth —
This wonderworld — this magical
Mother of music, women, and gods,
Of men and gnats and daffodils.

I am this pane of crystalline,
As clear as a cat's green eye,
Through which what's more than it beholds
Beholds the dance kaleidoscopic
Of light upon the body of being.

And all that we are and all we can be
Are lenses of light, fluid diamonds,
As chance as dewdrops, a delicate
Dance of the glassblower's arts:
Of dragons and dolphins and wizards
And swans — a tribal triumph of torches
And totems about the broad head
Of a pin. And as we think else,
So shape we the colors and kinds
Of our various beams.

Potters of light, we turn our wheels:
Waltzing waves of fluid form
Refracting down into the depths
The shining stuff of boundless being.