A wisdom poem that
arose spontaneously at a gathering in the Sequoias,
sponsored by the Collective Wisdom Initiative, exploring themes
of sound and vibration.
David sent us this version, "polished to reveal its shining."
There is this,
Where the columns rise.
Within this tree-born temple.
There is a great updraft.
If you listen carefully, there is the sound of a hawk.
and you find yourself climbing even higher
on the current of its voice.
Here, there is a great conference of affection.
Unbeknownst to those that arrive through masked gates of the
personality.
All true meetings are ordained by tree, bird, and intent
We are but grass blowing in the great wind.
For it is imossible to find the true nature of vibration,
Without a great affection present.
There is a sudden and mysterious force,
Cobalt blue in its intensity.
It shines through the night sky of the inner vision.
Like a velvet curtain of the most exacting truth.
Some call this wisdom.
It is but the cloak of Sophia:
The mistress of this unfolding.
And when she moves,
The ripples of the undulated action,
we catch in the precious cup of our hearts.
You cannot approach wisdom,
Except through a great conversation of affection.
For that fine and lofty flight of the pure truth itself,
Will only land on tenderness.
It is made so.
So that we might not harm ourselves truly.
From the heart of Sophia's wisdom
there is a mingling of these souls,
Called beyond themselves, to the pulse of this assembly.
If you look most carefully into the cup of the heart,
You will see lightning flashes.
And these are where love has grown most quick.
These are the stars of the interior sky.
Wisdom
Is the handmaiden of such light.
