The Ancient One + The Dragonfly

Our heart is heavy

carrying the weight of the cruelty of man

over aeons

like a trunk of ancient gold

gotten by ill

stolen from the dragon’s lair

leaving behind the spilt blood of its youngling.

.

The ancient tree shows its weary face to me

in vision

and sighs.

Wordlessly.

.

It has seen too many epochs of almost good

of almost light

only to be dragged back down

under the stormy waves

carried relentlessly to the mystical unyielding floor of the ocean

by the weight of the chains and manacles of greed

of endless lust for power.

.

And the ancient tree shows me its weary face,

its eyes near to shut,

and says to me wordlessly

.

And so will you, then, now pick up the sword?

Will you take up the battle?

Is it your turn?

.

And we say no, Beloved One.

We cannot.

We will not.

.

The sword is for the struggle.

And we will not enter the fray again.

No.

The conquered becomes the conqueror.

And the conquered is vanquished.

Again and again.

Over and over

in endless

looping rhythm of

victor to victim to victor

in the wheel of power and struggle.

.

No Beloved One,

Divine Tree of Life,

Planet Tree,

Mother and Father,

Sacred Star Tree of the Cosmos.

No.

We will not take up this mantle.

.

We will turn away

and walk alone

back in to the meadow

into the sun

into the wood

into the glade

into the moss

and the burbling stream

into the lake

and its icy waters

into the glaciers

bringing fresh life

in slow ancient pathways

into the nests

of the spring birds of song

into the eye of the cat

of the dragon

of the wolf

of the horse.

.

We will go within and beyond

into the heart of the rose

and be cosseted by the bumble and the buzzing of the bee

in perfect workplaycreation

and we will be carried away

by the butterfly

over mountains.

.

And we will return anew

into the water’s edge

where we will watch and be

as we come across the strangest idea

to raise our nymphean heads

above the waterline

and into the deathly air

and we will go into this certain death

only to discover

our body mutates

into breath

into air

and we will shed the old ways

and we will shed the new ways

and we will find we have wings

open and fourfold

transparent with glimmers of light

playing across them as

they lift us with their own free will

up and away to the new world

which is simply the old world

made fresh and new

by our surrender

by our release

made total and complete.

.

And at last the tree will rest

and the wheel will stop spinning

and the sword will become a stalk of lavender

dancing under the tender ministrations of the bee

and the hummingbird

in the gentle sun of early morning

in the new dawn of the first and last day.

.

And the ancient weary face of the tree

will dissolve

out of view

and man will be no more

and a new race shall come forward

in a new age

that is the barest glimmer of an inspiration

at the edge of the water’s surface

glistening above our heads

as if it were easy

to simply break through that surface

and choose a whole new life.

As if it were easy

for a man

to become a dragonfly.