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The Dreaming.
From the beginning of time this was the world’s ending
Where the restless surf ponds on the sea-worn skerries.
Here men looked to the sunset, dreamed of the Isles of the Blest,
Made songs of the Land of the Ever Young.
Here in the tumult of movement the unmoving rocks
Stand golden with lichen and worn with the feet of the sea,
Ignoring Man and his works, leaving the dreamer untrammelled
To imagine unknowable beauties.
Look down, deep down, through the clear water, the wrack
Bends and returns, advances, retreats and returns,
Never tired, never still, never resting the kelp and the wrack
Sway with the flow of the waves.
Before there was man, before the first animals crawled,
The wrack was swaying the same slow dance of the tide;
Before Time was, it was there – look now and forget,
Sink down in the swell and forget.
Forget what is Man, sink into depths of the Dreaming,
Seek that which creates and sustains the rocks and the sea.
Utterly lost in the whisper of slow waves moving
And the flow and return of the tide.
Here at the edge of the world the veil is so thin –
Surely here the unknown may be known, the unseeable seen.
The power is granted to enter the Dreaming.
Be it beauty or death that you seek.
Let go, surrender, submit the will and the person;
Let go, do not struggle, let yourself drown in the silence;
Down, down, sink down through the crystal clear water,
Forget even love in the Dreaming. |
