What is this that is Life itself;
Whence the source and whence the end?
Behind the scene It ever is,
Lost from view . . . yet Omnipresent.
Many paths there are into the world
Of lighted rays of silver thread
Far away from the Citadel
One Heart, many threads.
In the tiny chambers of many hearts
A deep note sounds, soft and long
through passage of Time, ever so sweet,
To clear the way for Love’s true song.
Beat by beat It throbs in space,
Drip by drip It pours Its rays
Into the shadows that live so far
Away from the Love of the Citadel.
Alas! The shadows, so many that live,
Must learn and grow by the pulse of the thread;
For long they hearken to outer fields
And know not Love of the Citadel.
Through gruelling cycles of coveted hell
They cling to life in the outer court
Blind and blown by the whims of chance
Forgetting all for the love of sport.
Sights, sounds and the touch of it all,
The allure of the field, its taste and smell,
Feeds the shell and dims the near
Yet distant sound of the Citadel.
‘Who, then, will know to understand
The solemnity of love which unites the thread
With the Highest Heart in the deepest part –
The Life and Love of the Citadel?
Tis the shadows that turn to look within –
To hear the note of the hidden thread;
Joy it brings as food for hunger,
As water quenches in dire dread.
Glimpses strange and yet familiar
New sounds intoned within the head
Bring Life and Love to outer memory
The Presence . . . a long departed Friend.
Slow at first is the rhythm beat
To build momentum ’til the last
In subtle guise it stands revealed
Within the reach of the Highest Heart.
Thus it is that is Life itself;
Spirit breathes and Matter ends
Union complete in circuit full
Love and bliss, Omniscience.
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