heard as music
seen as light and dance
scented as perfume
tasted as nectar
felt as benediction

we are written in the heavens
each man
woman
and child
the warm animals
basking reptiles
and shimmering fish
these busy insects
the soft swaying trees
and dancing bushes
these radiant flowers
the very rocks
and dust beneath our feet
each in itself
a symphony of synchrony

yet each symphony
is but itself a tiny player
in the great cosmic orchestra
of the whole;
the great song
heard as music
seen as light and dance
scented as perfume
tasted as nectar
felt as benediction.

the endless myriads of stars
glittering above you
the twinkling atoms
below and beyond
moving in integration
and concert with itself
the whole exists
in assonance
in unsurpassable harmony
balanced counterpoint
and utterly perfect timing

in this
is grace;
in this
manifests absolute
dynamic
equilibrium
the origin and interplay of opposites
the arising of cause and effect
the 'laws' of nature
and the faultless
effortless balance
and active creative counterpoint
of universal justice
and love;
not a sparrow falls

the whole acts of itself in itself
responding to ugliness with beauty
to hatred with love
to fear and anger
with fortitude and joy
to stupidity
with retribution
and to pain
with compassion;
in every way
any local dissonance
encounters self-correcting
harmony
and synchrony
which re-orders;
herein lies the key

why does mankind persist
with his self generated cacophony
in the face of the music of the spheres
- as if a child
banging a toy drum -
at the sermon on the mount?

the fixated noise in machines
so many of them unnecessary
the endless chatter of people
in agitation and speculation
trivia and what if
in the repeating
of fixating voice patterns
limited and ill-formed
crackling in the airwaves
humming in the wires
shouting from the billboards
the newspapers and magazines
screaming from the televisions
and thence resonating between the ears
this seemingly endless clatter...
yet one can observe
the cosmic symphony
when the noise falls away;
you cannot hear the sublime
if you whistle the same tune
over and over simultaneosuly
indeed
in time
it will imprison your hearing

heard as music
seen as light and dance
scented as perfume
tasted as nectar
felt as benediction

in attoning to the whole
the natural order of all things arises
which is the benediction of grace
arising in the ending
of disharmony
asynchrony
and dis-ease
but if the child persists
in banging his drum
he won't hear
and his plaintive dissonance
with its inherent disorder
will be overcome
by the natural order of all
as it reciprocates
in retaining equilibrium

heard as music
seen as light and dance
scented as perfume
tasted as nectar
felt as benediction;
open the window
and the breeze might enter