LABYRINTH IN THE WOODS

I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s
affection and the truth of the Imagination. (John Keats)

You know when the call comes
like the cry of the Heron or Cardinal
or early morning geese at the pond. You know
because even the trees stand still, mute

and waiting for you to take that first step
into the softness of your longing – your longing
to know your place in the wilderness – know your
solid ground that holds when all else fails.

Some hear music – deep-throated notes
of a low minor flute or an old hymn
that swells in the body. You stand
at the entrance, hesitant, perhaps

even trembling, and when you walk across
that line of Demarcation into the field
of ancient prints where others have gone,
it is a prayer of all prayers. There is nothing to do
but surrender and love the flush of gratitude
that comes as sky and sun or moon and stars
become your close companions. Every paver
beneath your feet is holy – every thought,

Even fleeting fears and irritations, sacred
in this field where Iris bloom and oak trees flourish
and your Soul belongs. You may laugh if you like
or let tears fall. You may Dance or even crawl
on your belly like the snake. The Divine loves it all

Marilee L Pallant – 6/5/06