I have had a fatal fall.
Toppled out of the basket-case
of the old life.
Legless. Upturned. Decked.
I landed here in this deathless Lightfield –
a body-Being sinking
into a silken over-stuffed armchair,
its arms holding, enfolding
its pillows sighing perfumed whispers:
“You are loved!”
And I drink this divine
the nectar of Knowing that I never have to leave,
But of course I will, apparently.
‘I’ has games to play,
people to pretend to be,
toys to create,
laughter and tears and love to share
yet – the silken pillows on which ‘I’ dreams
are always – always – here,
to cradle the dreamer with a kindness
that asks nothing in return.
– miriam louisa