Wednesday, 19 November 2008


The world was bare that day.  I stood alone on the mountain top.  There was nothing but rock beneath my feet.  From above there came a whisper;


I looked up and the world will never be the same.
Laughter flowed from a speck of a lark.  Sunbeams doubled over in silent laughter.  The joyous howl of the gulls spun out the weave of the sky.  The world was furnished with ripples of mirth.
How can this world be bare?

The world was still that day.  I walked alone on the moor. All was the same whichever way I stared.  From behind came a whisper;


I turned and the world will never be the same.
The grass blades bowed for the start of a promenade.  A hare leapt high in a whippoorwill prance. The heather bounded with secret dances.  The world was alive in a constant dance
How can such a world be still?

The world was silent that day.  I sat alone on the cliff-top. Only the sea broke the horizon. From below there came a murmur;


I bent and the world will never be the same.
The soil beneath my fingers shifted; singing.  The waves sang of life and of freedom.  The sands wove a burring song of being.  The world swirled with song.
How then is this world silent?

The world mourned that day.  I knelt alone in the garden.  My heart was black with bleakness.  From the distance came a call;


I followed and I will never be the same.
I found a man standing tall beneath a tree.  His eyes held the laughter of the sky.  He walked towards me and his gait was the dancing of the moorland.  he smiled and his smile was the song of the cliffs.  The flowers unfurled in victorious life.
How can I be alone when the laughter and the song and the dance and the life of the whole wide world walks with me?
Through a world which is furnished with laughter.
Through a world which is alive and dancing.
Through a world which swirls with song
Through a world which can never die.

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