Look out upon the heath, a bower
In winter’s frigid clasp, no flower
It graces o’er the chilly pond
It’s budless arms hang down a frond.
The look and feel are grey and bleak
The sense of warmth and life are weak
The sky is full of formless cloud
No bird or beast sings out aloud ~
And now breaks through this seeming dead
Sunlight streaming upon my head
And lo!
The willow bower awakes!
In just one moment Spring oe’r takes
Exploding Mother Nature’s Light
And turns the boughs to gold so bright
That luminescing it now stood
Proclaiming God’s Song,
Great and good.
England 22/2/93
Returning to London to reawaken the ‘Poetic Genius’ that had surged there so strongly in 84, a lot older and in much need of touching that essential Self that perceives everything as miraculous. Staying on Hampstead Heath in February 93 , the Sahaja Yoga ashram looked out over the centre- most of three ponds, seen from my bedroom and the kitchen. On my first day there [22] a private spectacle unfolded, that I was sure heralded an early Spring and yet was so much more, a metafore, for all that was transmuting then in my life, a Journey Into Spirit.
