The Voice of Stones
Look at this stone
Do you see the traces of time carved into it?
Do you know why it kept them inside all along?
Perhaps because it followed them
Through rivers and winds
Like steps on a trail never meant to fade...
Made of earth,
Been of the world,
And somehow of rain from the stars
In their death and their birth.
Why does the man follow them not
And only him calls the time that passes?
The body feels the time,
The mind knows the time,
The spirit doesn’t...
Their memories are unlike,
The familiar in what we see is not the rule
And either what seems to be hidden from what we can remember,
As they don't have the same root
And they don’t nourish the same flower.
We carry them together within,
We think we are some of them,
But the "I" is blindfolded,
It cannot remember beyond what it is to be it.
To be alive means that you are the house
For the spirit dwelling within you
And if you are your spirit
Your body is your temple to have Life
And name it.
There is hardness in stones defying the ages,
As if they were made of spirit,
Their Voice is not of flesh or of thoughts
And neither of songs of hope,
Nor of blessings of faith,
There is no “I” in stones to serve,
Just “is” without time, but only being.
The voice of stones is not one to be spoken,
It is one to be learned from their silence
When you get older...
The memory of stones is how the time
Caressed these grounds and filled its wounds
Before our steps have been called to judge and to own
What never has been ours at first to seed.
Voice of stones speaks of the universe,
Our unseen grandfather,
Creating before “I” having been birthed
To say what it is.
“I” was called into living
To sign the Day of Seeing,
Yet I died through my fears a hundred times fold
And then I felt how my heart is beating again,
Bearing the memories pulsing of time,
With many voices of thoughts,
Yet not remembering the one of spirit
But only blooming in Love...
It was the “I” the winter hour change
Suddenly entering the deep night
The Voice of stones at last
Maybe we can hear it,
If we can listen
Above the all uttering “I”
And the moment we remember.
Go beyond, beholder,
Even before this life you know,
Feel your fall,
Feel free to walk in the land
Of sceneries you don’t recall
Where you meet the voice of stones.