Tapestry of Friends – Cecilie Kwiat


Tapestry of Friends

A poem by the late Cecile Kwiat

In our lives the choice is less difficult,
We can or cannot listen for

the creative sound,
see the light
h shadow of clouds cast down

on earth,
we are the fortunate,

the ignorant of beauty,
the children of bliss.
When touched by feeling,
the hand may fix in place a strand of hair

wipe particles of dust from the stall

pick up a telephone to dial

some distant friend (“Are things going well?”)

We have a thousand moves to delay

that very touch of grace

lest it grasp our pain,

fingers deep inside the brain

diddling at the root of ignorance,

until who knows what is real.
We do not wish to remember sorrow

yet our voices thread its threnody

through every seam.

The melody drones through bone marrow

middle ear rocked dumb to all else

(which also sings, but now, misted over.

Gone into oblivion.)!
It is amazing how often

we avoid the ocean’s reach;

holding our breath when air is free.

Although it is certain that we are

both the curl of the shell

and the soft wave washing in

we refuse to be entertained.

And still, and always, comes the friend:
stranger than dishonesty

closer than our certainty

inviting our involvement

with what we do not think to see.
He passes through, whispering in our dreams.

What does he say?
“Don’t grasp at the form, it cannot grant you peace.

Praise the emptiness which gives all form its shape;

the womb from which all creation pours, cascades,

overflows, ripples, crashes, slumbers, stagnated.

From the very no-beginning the wheeling life-force surges into being

then dries up, evaporates, just when you’ve got the pipes securely set in place.

Beloved one, let go.”
The message vibrates the edges of clarity

leaving an imprint of something more powerful

than possessing a reality.
What does he say? Nothing. Really.

Absolutely no thing.