Page 6 - DAVID ROOMY MysteriuMBellE
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THE DREAM THAT WON’T END
I sailed mid ports of life’s last recall
I sailed with friends our greatest ocean’s ends
the hour of setting sun which none can forestall, this hour most cherished for love of friends
we met again! In life as well our boon
to meet in hallowed room of peasants’ inn
with spoons aside for closeness unspaced like noon, the holy gathering of kin exceeding kin.
Beyond the sage would trace the plan entire:
the snake consumed its end; Tibet arose,
I saw the summits lift unveil their fire,
He glowed in lotus pose ‘midst the snows.
The dream had cast my mind twixt night and day in mists were glimpsed the way where death lay.
From INNER WORK IN THE WOUNDED AND CREATIVE, London, Penguin/Arkana, 1990.
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