PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I can still hear the rushing waters of Fall River at the night’s edge.  Twisting and turning, shaping this little town, becoming its center.  Soothingly it could place you in a most peaceful trance.  We stroll under blanketing curtains of afternoon rain showers that erupt from the essence of the continental divide.  Clouds skirt the mountains and roll off Longs Peak like tidal waves.  Here, the azure blue sky is everything.  The scent of pine and spruce entices sleeping senses.  It is here that the soul is limitless, free!  I followed the wispy mists rising up out of the valley below.  Stepping upon crushed rocks and slippery mossy logs as I edge forever towards a hidden summit.  I collected the beautiful stones that called out to me, touched the branches of lush emerald coniferous trees, swirled my naked fingers in the healing frigid glacial waters.  It was upon the face of a cliff, as I sat resting upon an enormous stone, that a vision suddenly came upon me.  It revealed a solitary figurine, barefoot and wearing a brown cloak, standing outside a hut, arms outstretched to the Apennine sky as if celebrating the grace of existence.  Grape vines twisted and curled down rocks at the entrance to a shadowy cave that I perceived to be a study.  I peered inside the cavern, which was illuminated by a glowing holy book that rested upon a simple wooden table. Opening its cover, I stared into everything and nothingness, my ego was momentarily shattered as my earthly consciousness became obliterated.  I became all that is, all that ever was, all that will be.  Gasping, I closed the book with my trembling hands, I was not yet ready for this I heard a disembodied voice explain. I was transported to a hill upon which sat an ancient Tuscan village, enormous stone walls and minuets guarding the mysterious city.   A lone donkey walked slowly along the face of the cliff far below me.  The rocks began to vibrate steadily, pulsating in the unearthly indanthrene light.  Stones whispered a reassuring and forgotten language that I could suddenly understand.  Cerulean skies seem to ebb and flow like gentle tides, calming the earth, like waves crashing on a beach at midnight.  In this land the soul knows no curfew.  A gray heron flew low, sending out a shrill call to my heart, setting it beating once more.  I crossed over a narrow footbridge, taking me across a rapidly flowing stream that led to rolling fields of umber.  A shepherd silently tends his flock in the looseness of twilight.  Everything felt vague.  Reality distorted into a lush living landscape that never dies.  The rushing water of the stream seems to unleash a song inside me.  I sing the melody and words that flow into my consciousness.  This figure, now distant, grasps the three knots on his rope girdle.  I watch as the most profound and mystical experience unfolds before me!  A light as bright as the sun passes through the hermit and into the rocky earth that grounds him.  The energy radiates out through the cliff face, through fields of gold, and down into the mountain stream which absorbs it like rain water.  The landscape implodes upon itself sending me reeling.  Suddenly, I hear water crashing through the rocks of Fall River that winds through the little mountain town below me.  My little hotel in Estes Park Colorado calls to me, beckoning.  But I sit there for hours stunned and mesmerized, entranced by the mystical vision that was unveiled that day.