Stopping – settling into the whole of me
I lift my eyes to this mountain. Bestowed
on her table top- a crown of mist. A robe she wears
of orange-breasted feathers and fynbos pointing
to these moments of being.
I lift my eyes- I do not ask where
help will arrive from
for the heart-of-hearts is resting
within these streams and bird song,
within these roots and ancient rock. Within the eagle watching
above – within the dark soil below, within the hum-drum life
rushing around on the edges, passing the beggar holding her
baby ever so not tightly
for hunger is a stronger force.
the glistening cheek of the girl on the street corner – torn heart, shredded
stockings but rent will be paid and maybe even salvation.
Within the glimmering wheels driving away – within
the old man swaying with the sea walking his even older dog
stepping over needles used to numb the pain – or to feel our
own pulse again? Within the touch of the one I love,
within my own aching – an ache that shows me a path
within watchful eyes giving utmost attention – to the
whole within, to the whole without.
©Ansa Smit, June 2015.
“To see things from a new physical angle is sometimes to see them from a new spiritual angle. You can see disas and red crassula at Kirstenbosch, but perhaps you have not really seen them until, resting on some tiny ledge, you have seen them flaring from the sheer grey rocks.”– Extract from C. A. Luckhoff’s book, Table Mountain –