Outside the window snow was sailing through the sky.
The slope of the side of the mountain dissolved before the eye.
Clouds came crowding down while wind carried the flurries high.
The white surf washed against grey granite bulks til nothing there was dry.
And this was a scene in a dream.
Tinted window went from floor to past eye.
The scene was a scene in a dream.
Like on a screen of a world beyond I.
The strength of the mountain was like the slope of one shoulder.
The head was in the clouds above reach.
And the rolling snow caught by the wind was a spirit.
Waves of light pouring down and along a shining beach.
The height and the light and the cold and the cloud.
The flurry and the falling and the rolling and pouring.
So where was the heart as this weather made its way?
Where was the watcher inside in the foreground?
What company did he keep in warm room by the window?
Did the fire in the hearth tint the window and surrounds?
I remember the distraction of the beautiful scene.
The softness and the swirl and the whiteness and kindness.
The slope so smooth like some tilted horizon.
The slow-motion presence of this world beyond mine.
But I was listening to the words I was making in response.
Feeling utterly unable to trust in their labels.
What conjurations I could speak could compare with this beauty?
And it cried out for justice for at least one or two words.
Dissolving inside in the challenge of this beauty I spoke.
The words something ‘awareness’ and ‘consciousness’ too came out.
And a feeling inside multiplied just behind the words and within.
Not talking ‘about’ but being the very words that came forth.
‘Awareness’ and ‘consciousness’ filled the room like a wave.
A warm-coloured ocean radiating and carrying smiles.
And the eye for who I was in the dream expanded outward,
Becoming a circle of friends and the window and outside.