I have asked the wisest <br />men and women <br />about these small things. <br />Some stare me down, <br />without so much as the courtesy <br />of a 'fare-thee-well' <br />and good-bye. Others look <br />extremely hurt, <br />zero in on me. Confused, <br />I withdraw. <br /> <br />Only one of these seers <br />treated me as an equal, <br />a man in his early forties <br />who spoke of the romance <br />of the rails, who still <br />bounded on the moving train <br />in St. Paul and rode all the way <br />to Portland. I'm not sure <br />what lesson he was meant to teach <br />me, unless it was just the good will <br />he conveyed, the hope he engendered. <br /> <br />One Sunday in June, I crossed <br />paths with MONICA, a young seer <br />in a bright yellow summer dress, <br />in a garden in Golden Valley <br />I had never before entered. <br />Before I could speak, she said, <br />'You're not ready for the small <br />things, much less the Cascade <br />of Light. Here, read this. Begin <br />now! ' She handed me a manuscript <br />that was handwritten, the cover <br />page was beautifully inscribed, <br />'The Book of the Sun' by Marsilio <br />Ficino. 'I know this, I've read <br />this, ' I responded excitedly. <br />'No you have not. You only <br />acquired your eyes today.' Her <br />face was beautiful and stern. <br />'Read it. We will meet again.' <br />And then there was only yellow <br />light where she had just stood <br />in her summer loveliness. I was <br />bereft, but in my hands was the <br />'The Book of the Sun'. I sat <br />down on a bench by a fountain, <br />and commenced reading with my <br />new eyes in my new life... <br />Deep within, I heard Monica's <br />voice, now sweet and gentle, <br />'Don't stare at my face, Daniel. <br />Look deeply within. Poetry is <br />not the surface of things, it <br />is.... '<br /><br />Daniel Brick<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-new-life-second-stage-for-marie/
