The World flew into my hands,
blessing me with her holy sounds,
I found her willing and alone,
I placed my face upon her throne,
I knew that only She could feel
the strength of my inward expansion:
Flying upwards, She commands
a view of the entire Universe; She
Demands a response, She will not be satisfied with idle longings;
She stabs me with her meaning-dagger, drawing blood.
And I, obedient Servant, march to Her unwavering beat;
I shall move my feet to her rhythm, constantly tracing, like the lines of rivers in the desert,
The contours of my own heart; for She and I
Are no longer a desperate pair of fugitive lovers:
We are the Equinox of creation, the wellspring that cannot be quenched,
The quiet young child who plays the reed flute in the corner,
Intoning sacred truths as if they were the most simple things:
And now I place this tiny creature which has been born, upon the ground,
For it to run and play, in its own way, in its freedom-song:
Do not look back, my Child:
I have set you free.
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