Everything means something.
There Was a Time…. by Barbara Helvey Hughes
….when we looked upon everything as a message.
Symbols assumed boundless importance because
everything was a symbol and everything held immense
secrets ~ importance in everyday life was discovered in the
bones of the bird we stumble across, the
bones of the tree, broken, bit by lightening,
the bones of magic: feathers tethered to branches,
rock-stacks tethered to earth: circles, patterns, hands:
rocks, paper, scissored hands slicing air suspending us
stopping us in our tracks, begging to be interpreted.
Deciphered. Code coded into broken bones.
Broken breeze. Ciphered clues?
I have met Souls you would not believe.
Reconnected with Energies I suspected were long
gone back to the beginning, only to have one
brush my shoulder, force my gaze, remind me to
believe. And, believe, I do, for I have held belief
close and closer, still, until I believed I could believe
no more. Then, you. You reminded me. And, again,
I embrace belief. You buttress my Faith. As I must,
surely have restored it to another, now gone or
long forgotten, but still inside the bounty of this circle.
Love does not die. Love recycles, circles back upon itself,
becomes boundless ~ the more authentic we become
the more beautiful becomes our Love and the more
aware our Spirits as if a billion butterflies burst forth
from the Core, central to who you are, who I am. We.
Wandering, alone, we activate powerful realizations.
Nothing births before its time. We bolt through that,
crawl through this, cry through them, laugh through
gauntlets which leave us bruised and battered, uncertain.
We battle into bereavement; surrender, turn, rise. You.
The Raven flies before the rising sun and, once again,
angels, or something/one, intervenes. Last night I watched
veils lift from around the moon as I crossed three bridges
coming home. I thought of you. I remembered the birch
grove and I know you know. Only when we release the
ingrained and outlying static, can we connect and hear.
Reverberations await each of us and we recognize the
signals or we do not. This began long and long ago.
At the beginning. It takes our entire journey, within each life,
to simply return to where we left off, before. Three steps?
We turn around and place one foot in front of the
other, more intent upon the path than the journey it
leads us through, until, at last we look up ~ squint.
Light? Scattershot upon where the last wound blasted
our hearts, now barely beating; thumping against those
exposed and battered walls, breached by ~
You.
YOU.
This, the Love Story.
There was a time…..
11-26-2017 written for PFM
Edit 11-29-2019 saved on 5-2-2020