Mumbling to the Mother of All

As sleepwalkers,

we drift in broad daylight—

senses singing us to sleep

despite the solar bell resounding overhead.

“Wake us up,” we do not hear ourselves crying,

while shadows of longing

hitch rides on every breath.

We can but mumble

in reply to its endless smile,

answering its Michaelic messages

with a verse we ourselves do yet apprehend.

To our dreamy eyes, clouded by vapors

of lonely lies and lust for power,

the old God fades—

lost in the noisy silence of nothingness.

But a new God kindles:

a pulse of living Love

breathing not against

but through souls’ desire,

into trembling bodies

and out to star-bright wonders.

The stars remain

fountain-veins of the Divine,

and we who name ourselves scientists

still yearn for reasons

to cradle every fact.

For without feeling,

without Love,

knowledge becomes an empty echo.

In the end,

nature’s facts

may be the slow blossoming

of spiritual desires.

The standing waves of every atom,

the plasma fields of every star—

each a cosmic troubadour

crooning us deeper into Love.