A garden inside me, unknown, secret,
neglected for years,
the layers of its soil deep and thick.
Trees in the corners with branching arms
and the tangled briars like broken nets.
Sunrise through the misted orchard,
morning sun turns silver on the pointed twigs.
I have woken from the sleep of ages and I am not sure
if I am really seeing, or dreaming,
or simply astonished
walking towards sunrise
to have stumbled into the garden
where the stone was rolled from the tomb of longing.
— David Whyte
To hear David Whyte recite his poetry is a gift beyond words. This particular poem opens my heart deeper with each reading. How long has that garden inside been negected? This Easter it feels very much like astonishment and wonder and awe to be walking toward sunrise having stumbled into that garden. The tomb of my longing has opened and it is with great anticipation that the rebirth begins.
No comments:
Post a Comment