Inspired by the misty island of Eire (Ireland), “Celtic Dreams” is a vision that tickled my imagination in Big Sky, Montana. The heart’s thin places know no boundaries of time or space—so they can take us wandering to liminal lands, no matter where we actually may be. The image of this dreamlike hillside haunts my memory still.
Bards of old sang soulfully
of rocks and rivers,
lakes and mountains
sublime in their antiquity;
with fields aflame in wildflowers,
bending breezily in full knowing
that vibrant life for them is short,
yet powerful in its glory.
At peace upon yon dream-like hillside
a mystic troubadour
appears to wander,
his lungs filled up
with clover’s heady sweetness,
his eyes affixed on a cloudless ceiling,
his ears attuned to subtle sounds
of insect creatures skittering
in tall grass,
and all the portals of his mind
unfettered by such worldly thoughts
as have no place
in nature’s great cathedral.
He stays awhile, then drifts away.
(Eire’s minstrel belongs to dreamtime.)
And as he fades my mind inquires—
Could I but sound reality’s tone
that hums the deep bass
of Terra’s grounded presence,
and beckons my heart
to loftier climes,
where Spirit’s voice speaks clearly
as a sunbeam’s noontime filament,
then, surely, in that fair place
mystery’s song would
awaken my soul
and life’s full joy be mine at last—
all the way to forever.
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