“The inspired man who speaks the truth, says nothing that is his own.
Through his mouth it is the language that speaks.”
— Terrence McKenna
Silent mother of all word and sound,
cosmic womb of grace, truth and understanding,
your living information permeates the world,
flashing into the vastness, thus it has been
since the time when speech and magic were one.
Your words wing free upon the wind,
your kindled bundles of particular meaning,
dancing around sounds and silences,
crystallizing worlds within worlds,
with fluency, ease and aptness of expression.
Each word its own ecstatic signification,
drawn in shadow and light, in vibration and form,
every phrase, poem, prayer and song a vision,
each flower, bird, stone and drop of rain a linguistic charm,
Each an utterance in sacred tongues of spirit.
In wordings bestowed, borrowed, woven and rewoven,
Into fences encircling fields of conscious thought,
We sow your rhythmic seed, germinating in intellect,
externalizing the vistas of our rich interior blossom,
as we spell our names across the eternal scroll. | IL