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The Sun of gOd
Inspired by a wonderful book about the consciousness of the Sun by Greg Sams
The Tree (Yggrdrasil?)
Sitting at the foot of the treeI looked up at the bodies hanging from the branchesGrey, grim pain-filled facesSome twitched, others were stillEach locked in a personal, private hellAlone, isolated by the coarse,Coir rope they hung fromIt was a macabre sceneMorning sunlight glintingThrough new, young April leavesThe warm sou’westerly breeze carrying the salt tang of the seaThere were bodies of every age, race, colour hanging thereSlowly rotating in the balmy airMy attention was drawn to two or threeThey felt differentThey hung by their feet not their necksAnd they reposed peacefullyLegs and arms crossed like Egyptian kingsThey were totally inanimate, immobileChrysalis likeNo grimace, no rictus hereThey hung in silence;Even the breeze failed to move themIn a tree of pain and extinctionThey defied even death by their silence,Peace and lack of movement
The sun rose higher to its zenithThe smell of sweat and fat grew strongerDrawing Crows to perch expectantly on the upper branchesSevere, black guardians, hooded watchers gazing westwardTo the coast and the setting, dying SunAnd night cameAnd dawn brokeAnd the Sun roseAnd the next day beganAnd evening cameAnd wolves came scuffling round the base of the treeAnd night cameAnd day brokeEight days and nights passedWith each day and each nightMore creatures cameTo watch, stand guard and waitBeside this enormous treeFor with each passing day it grewWith each day its boughs hung lower,Heavy with yet more fruitAnd the evening of the eighth day cameThe Sun started its descent to the westIn a blaze of orange gloryTransmuting to pink and azureThe wind dropped and there was no soundThe birds and animals stood stillNot a leaf movedIt was a tableau, a vigil
As the Sun touched the horizonAnd the light started to coolThe moon roseFull and silver sparklyTransforming the technicolour view to shades of grey.The leaves of the tree started to shiverAs though an east wind was tickling their stemsAnd yet there was no breezeBut somehow there was vibrationImperceptibleAs soon as thought of or recognised, it vanishedThe night continuedA cloudless sky allowing silver lightTo fall unabated on the groundThe congregation waited, expectancy aboundedAnd the Moon slid to the horizonAs the eastern rim glowed pale pinkAnnouncing the rising SunAs the Sun rose on the ninth morningThere was movement in the treeNine lords hanging by their feet awokeAnd climbed out of the tree.Their faces glowed in the morning lightAs they walked towards the rising SunThe crowds parted and the nine lords bowed in acknowledgementTall they were with sharp green eyes and red hairThey walked slowly and with great graceAnd as for man or woman I could not tell
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The Tree
A dream journey to the tree of life and creative void
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| Upload Date: | 04/14/2009 |
| Copyright: | Traditional Copyright: All rights reserved |
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