The light codes fall from Mt Shasta
Over Mossbrae and on down
To Sacramento as sacramental water
And to the galactic realms below
The Hollywood portal
All the way
Underground, and Dunsmuir is
Suitable proxy for all of nature,
The universal common denominator,
For it holds the earth entire
In its igneous memories, but like
The waterfall that hisses hush
Will not say.
You can see
The fairies, all manner of translucent
Elementals, bouncing rainbow spheres,
Gnats dancing their sacred geometries,
A purple butterfly -- who would think
St. Germaine would have come down
The mountain in violet mist
Amid the feather lines of snow
Melt white and rapids
Charged with light?
I should dive inside
Archangel Michael’s cold truth blue
I suppose, but the rocks have become
My friends, and the Tai Chi class
Has just begun.
The I AM society
Protects this spot more securely
Than the Union Pacific that is
Nevertheless content to push
Pilgrims like us off its trestled path
To the blissful flow of poison oak
And mosquito traffic.
The grasses
Who have traveled far to rest here
Glisten in a prayer of peace
So far removed from nearby golden
Fields where the wind propels cow tails
To spin like batons of clocks
In the no time of the present
Where everything exists
If you are quiet enough
To enter it, your heart entire,
The last sacred place.
