A Response to Simple Gifts

There is an old song, 

rediscovered,

that has been trilling through my head like birdspeak. 

It sweeps me up and carries me over and again 

fairylike 

to the garden at its center. 

It is a deep breath

that some unnamed composer

has given me from their own lungs.

Within its stanza, 

I find a ringing truth– 

sounding so purely 

with such determination

that the reverberations push away 

all the unworthy beliefs crowding in on me.

I feel I have tapped into a 

Wellspring:

ancient, clear, sweet. 

Its source is mystical

but its effect is tangible. 

Mysteriously, it is filled with words I

avoid: 

down

seek

bow

bend

turn.

These are all the wrong directions, I think. 

I want to ascend.

To have already found–searching is so wearisome. 

I want to stay above it all–bow and bend are dirty words at best.

And to turn implies delay–to move slowly the way 

thoroughness requires. 

This dancing ditty

dares to suggest

that discovery happens in the 

descending, the

stooping low

and returning again and again to see things anew.

It boldly suggests 

that these low places and simple details

are the places “just right”

where we gain gifts and freedom

delight and love;

where we are seen and not condemned

where we are righted. 

Caught in the circling repetition of this sweet tune,

I marvel at Art’s ability to bring clarity

with such arrestment. 

To use simple materials

to alter firing neurons.

Who but Art would have the courage

to step into the firing range of the mind

to stop the violent exchange. 

Sometimes it is to add ammunition or

to alter tactics.

But sometimes it lays a flower on the field

and brings about a ceasefire.