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Waking
by Steven Craig
And I sit wondering where your dreams
have taken you during the night
whether to places you have been
or those you'd still like to see
or perhaps ones that exist only in your mind.
And too,
who you have been
and what you have done
in those misty places
that are so vivid in the night mind's eye ...
where people we have never seen
appear fully fleshed out ....
with mind
and body
and personality ....
as unique
as those we meet
in waking hours ....
How is it that we create
the characters of our dreams? ...
and I wonder to what extent we do that
even after the sleep
is brushed away from our eyes,
and the sun starts our new day ....
How much do we create
who we think we know ...
rather than truly seeing the all
and the nothing-beyond-soul
that they are? ...
we are far more creative
than we know ....
filling in the spaces
where others can't
or don't allow us
to know them ...
Where they hide cherished dreams
or sacred shame ...
without knowing,
that in some peculiar way
that is most what we want to know ...
most what we connect with ...
far beyond the personality and ego,
nice clothes,
pretty words,
fancy cars ....
that is what we all want to know
without knowing it ...
To know the perfections
the imperfections of another ....
No,
not the perfections
of things studied long and well ...
nor the ones worked at ...
labored over ...
those are all grand
in their own special way ...
but they don't endear others to us
(or us to them)
in the way we are endeared
when the spirit steals
past the ego
to frolic about ...
When innocence emerges
and finds awe
in the simplest of things ...
like sunlight sparkling
in the dew
of a freshly woven web ...
that innocence
part of our inherent perfection ...
The beauty and purity of a soul
unaware
it is being observed ...
and in that,
fresh,
unfettered,
and lost
in its own wholehearted delight ...
Methinks that is one of the things
That you love best,
and one of those that I share ...
those rare moments
when self-consciousness slips away
revealing the truth
of what is usually dormant
and safely hidden away ...
protected
from those who are too clumsy
to know
how to protect
something so fragile ...
so delicate ...
from those
too intent on believing
in the appearance of things
to know the essence of them ...
There are few
with whom such things are safe ...
fewer still who cherish them
in the hustle bustle rhythm
of daily life
where all but the loudest
and most urgent of things
captures our attention ...
And yet,
that is where the sweetest of sweetness is ...
the truest of all true things ...
in those quietest of quiet corners
that so few are invited to enter ...
but then you know that ....
and know too
how to sit quietly
in those corners ...
so quietly
that observer and observed
become of one mind
and spirit ....
one energy ...
sharing a moment in time ...
Or more ...
before something startles it
that small and tender spirit ...
before it scurries
back to the protection
of the dark
those quiet corners ...
becomes a whisp
of something untouchable again ...
Until it is safe to come out once more ...
knowing now the joy of such freedom,
it seeks the safety of sacred sanctuary
where all pretense is shed
and only tender truth lives on ....
And on that note ...
it is time for me to shower
and start my day ...
knowing that the same water
that trickles through the shower head
is lapping your roof
and sliding down the windows
of your bedroom just now ...
about to wake me
from my gentle reverie
and,
at the same time,
holding you gently in yours ....
03/15/2008
Posted on 03/16/2008
Copyright © 2025 Steven Craig
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