I never denied the beauty:
Imperial pomp of sunrise,
The seductive glamour of sunset.
The snaking voluptuous river,
Swollen with incessant downpours,
The glitter of rare raw minerals,
A glimmer waiting in the depths.
Beyond the mist in the distance,
The harrowing sublimity of mountains.
The perceived chant of the angels,
Drifting across the aether.
The vertiginous descent of the eagle,
Intent upon the sighted prey.
The patient strength of the ox,
Harnessed for growth and generation.
The gilded and haloed lion,
Surveying the buffet of the savannah.
The shining lights of the city,
On the snow capped hilltop.
The voluminous text of flesh
Awaiting to be read in the dark.
The beauty of the world is undoubted:
But I suspected treachery
A beauty that bites after caressing
Wanting to leave its mark
Because it too is just passing
A floating world of samsara,
Always changing; never
Still: completes a cycles,
Pauses briefly before transformation
Then same as it ever was,
Is or will be.
James Abbott McNeil Whistler-The Doorway 1879/1880
This place has the shimmer of an illusory construct
Though rumour has it exists in actuality
The tales told suggest some impossible fable
Realised through masses of stone and marble
In certain lights disappearing, rendered invisible
Then when the mists disperse, dissipate, revealing,
Floating above the void,
Sinking into the abyss;
The Capital of Impermanence.
For a few seconds a stray sunbeam Makes visible the dance of dust motes Swaying, trembling, swooning then falling I have been granted a glimpse Of harmony in the floating world For the moment I am deeply content Eyelids heavy, chin dropping towards chest I dream of angels in a distant Heaven Languidly embracing in the shallows Of a limpidly becalmed pool.
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