BENDING

     I see them attached to the sticks of the bending trees and they do bend and bend.   There is no thing in order save the sway and movement, save the stillness when the air is mute.  

     And, I fall and swing as I watch the leaves upon the sticks upon the trees, attached, moving in freedom, happiness and joy.

     Our globe, too, bends and bends still more through the galaxy of lights, through the horizons of colors and pure passions. 

     

     The firmaments undulate attached like leaves upon sticks upon this multi-verse of God, bending, bending, bending furthermore.

     And, I ask:  Is not Freedom that bend, that bending stillness upon the stiff sticks to which I see?  

     

     I am crescent moon upon the sweeps of air guiding me, moving me, bending me, bending me further and still further into the muted Holy whom I praise, whom I sing and gather unto myself tonight.

     Here, upon the tree of Freedom, upon that tree of allowance, is the bend of vast openness, the sacred motion of all living thing which moves and bends and bends further deep, bending ever over my unsaid God.