The Attic

I live my life in widening circles

that reach out across the world.

I may not ever complete the last one,

but I give myself to it.

I circle around God, that primordial tower,

I have been circling for thousands of years,

and  I still don’t know:  am I a falcon,

a storm, or a great song?

Rilke

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     Washed up on your shore, exhausted from endless swimming, through heavy waves and light, through storm and sunshine, I drag myself from the waves and sit at their edge, panting…  My breast heaves and I am cold to the bone, but eventually I grow quiet enough to make my camp there on your shore.

     Day by day I walk the sandy beaches, circling, circling…

     Sometimes you surprise me by inviting me in, and I climb ancient stone steps around your dwelling:  circling, circling…

    Occasionally you make it easy for me, inviting me into your office, where there is a conference going on that I understand yet do not understand, but it is about a quickening for some purpose I dare not call great…

     Then there are moments when I stand on the ramparts of your tower and look out over our lands:  I become your witness.

     Despite these times, I continue to walk your shores, waiting…

     Until that time.

     Today, when we were together, you laughingly pretended not to notice when I crept away from our meeting and found the endless wooden ladder that goes up into the attic.  I climbed for a long time, but the view was worth it, and when I entered the sound just right, I knew something of the will that arises out of that great emptiness…  But it wasn’t the will that interested me…

     Or You.