SORiaN ArT ©

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

Clearly,

But only blooming in Love...

It was the “I” the winter hour change

Suddenly entering the deep night

Of Being.

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.

***