Lessons Along the Way by Mark Haberstroh
Cross of Light
A line in the sand
a finger through the water
it presses in as it inscribes
from brow to below,
drawing with light
upon the dark field of the soul.
Shoulder to shoulder,
secret heart transfixed,
a searing from the cross of light,
until next time.
Our moments grind to a halt without love.
Every moment freezes without love.
We can overcome these jolted stops in two ways.
We can embrace Illusion and thereby experience the flow
of seemingly seamless contiguity … (a nice covering, like digital overlaying analog. Those digits still saw with jagged teeth through the soul).
Or we can search for the truth of love, whose power inexorably bonds
one moment to the next, like chains of radiant atoms building
multi-directional structures of light in winter's cold, indigo night. These spirit-snowflakes softly descend and then melt to become the warm golden blood of the heart within the heart.
(In gratefulness to Hal Clark)
Like the falcon aloft
fly with your thought streaking to its destination.
Ride the radiant flaming ethers
until far-flown over sand or sea your wing-ed creation finds its kin.
Spiraling down to earth to ground,
it builds through affinity an impulse within another soul,
and newly clothed in dark or light
or murky or clear waters, binds you both in liquid spirit.
Was your thought-deed "the last straw," a quiet revelation, or simply love? What thought now leaps from your brow to a new journey, a new home?
How do you swim the vast ocean of universal thought,
as shark or dolphin or true man?
At night we drink from the high mountain spring of sleep,
the pure source of dream.
Through dream can come the spirit's cool breath, lingering in memory like the moist of morning dew.
We sense the future not yet set, and enjoy the prospect of unfolding,
knowing each day springs forth anew, fresh-born from the sun.
The soul's eyes may awaken in sleep's strange land,
And seeing the beauty in that numinous landscape may come to know the joy of standing within.
We then descend, circling back to our feet upon sacred dirt in daily round.
We now feel what he feels, see what she sees, with heart and eyes same. Heart within heart, brothers and sisters all …
A new day, a new way,
When visual experience becomes a tactile one, When we reach out and follow our sight, and travel to its destination, When we touch the outside with our soul, streaming through the eye … I wonder if our Angel can come with, and see what we see, touch what we touch … with the soul’s finger. Is the door then open? Can he walk with us, but now sharing our eyes? Is this a gift that we can give, or is it something he no longer needs?
The dodecahedron slowly spins …
emitting its gold-white, sweeping rays
while tendrils form of roses encircling
those streaming shafts of light,
where they blossom red
‘round each entwined apex of arms, legs, and head.
Lines converge, cross, continue, and change
within those two ethereal petals,
prompting thought’s gentle launch toward cosmic things.
Pulsing with color an expanding vision
carries Hope to the Dead.
The dodecahedron spins …
its surfaces reflect and reveal
as it recedes, descending
into the heart’s abyss.
Its red-gold glows the darkness
and brings Hope to the Self diving after,
soon to discover the heart’s true deep
a firmament of bright light and beauty
where ones Spirit awaits, more radiant
than the Sun, no longer asleep.
*Dedicated to Rudolf Steiner in appreciation of “more radiant than the sun.”
Embrace (a love poem)
When passionate embrace
becomes bereft of passion,
the merging deepens
if we approach the Light,
resolved each to hold the other
heart to heart,
breath to breath.
Given the chance
to wrap ourselves in the spiral dance
of the moon’s sun, the sun’s moon,
under the slow spin of stars
we slip into each other,
naked and bodiless,
spirit to ascending spirit.
Where the secret heart is soft, is tender,
we might step to the left
into a pool of our tears
or to the right
and see the face of our Angel.
We lose the Vision in our tears.
We lose our tears in the Vision.
Either way, He remains. We live within his embrace,
seeing or not, sensing
the ethereal touch
of his delicate love.
cross angel's wing
as a silent web of ether-light
pours through the eyes
to bathe an in-glowing soul.
The radiant moon permeates
with an inundation of dream
as crickets sing the indigo night.
Follow to find her light-beams within,
and search their luminous beauty filtering in
slightly beneath awareness,
unbeknownst to eyelids.
Bring them as sacred offering,
beam to wing, receive their reflected grace,
wing to beam,
a glistening union in soft silver and white,
a betrothal in light,
holy inner to sacred outer,
immersion, then inversion
Walking these sun-fields
shin deep in flame
licking knee, thigh, and naked shoulder ...
wild archetypal flowers of single hue
unfold infinite forms
and blossom living yellows with orange tinged in red.
They turn the soul's feet a cool rose
on this pure and radiant surface.
There is no gravity, no levity, but perfect balance
between star-strewn firmament and bright core below,
clear and brilliant to the center.
Awestruck at the starry cosmos and eyeing home
awakens wonder at the invigorating and fresh flame.
It seems the sun's rays heat during their cosmic course
toward our earth,
that their flight as spirit-light is somehow accompanied
by a wondrous ethereal friction upon descent
to physical light and earth's receptive crust.
Perhaps it is the rubbing
against numberless wings along the way,
Space being so thick with Being.
Blasted by his dark wind
will we stand
will our flame burn the brighter
to consume his dense shroud
that smothers spirit
defiles soul hardens earth,
and with a rip
will we tear the veil,
with a crack
split the rock (the seedling never relents)...?
With chakras alight luminous egos ignite the darkness
with sun-strewn strength
sourced in heart
magnified through mind
fired through mouth and limb.
A New Beauty
Some life on the surface quietly evaporates
while other life filters down with the water.
A force like gravity, but not,
pulls me down (there is choice here),
and I follow willingly the water.
The resonant heart sounding,
dives in search of mystic rivers,
sub-oceanic rivers coursing through living, liquid space.
I descend into those rushing waters that stream
through the cold dark,
hurling complex, swirling vortices voicing
spirals within spirals that signal
mysterious Being, potent and waiting …
a harbinger of those beings of the dark almost met, but not,
like breath on the mirror masking a different face, a race
far deeper than mermen.
An ethereal finger lightly touches the temple,
an almost imperceptible nibble on the toe wakes
awareness of an infinite deep, portending … monsters?
All is darkness in this abyss … above, below,
all 'round, no ground,
only a sightless suspending, yet …
orientation does spring from within.
An exquisite balance issues from the heart,
its dynamic forces brought to rest
like the silently spinning gyro ever-poised,
ready to reclaim the vertical.
And then surprise through the eyes flashes forth light
streaming into darkness,
illuminating only those things within the scope of vision.
And with light-fall a shining iridescence
upon objects so strange and curious
emitting a soft, sparkling, and mercurial brightness.
Vivid colors cast and create sharp shadows
that quickly melt and flee,
called home to their mother substance.
They seek union too.
My path is self-generated, self-illumined, self-heated,
and seems the only way,
this way of the Will.
The desired, relentless, and unending manifestation from within
pours forth from a golden heart,
the ceaseless overflow of an inner life, love-imbued.
There is a fire in the deep water.
His name is Man.
Someday he will ignite the dark abyss into planetary flame,
into an irradiated and numinous brilliance,
and then we shall see a new beauty,
immersed in wonder
a seed leaf begins,
in moist earth
to break through
the pungent dark,
to rise ...
fog lifts as
from grey sleep
to announce to trumpet
the coming light
in the silent luminous aura
of a white lily
beads the still brow
to night mists
behind the eyes
blows a cold brisk wind
high clouds streak birdlike
across the ethers
talons, bills, plumage
and oh so warm air-puffed bodies
one into the other
in the mind's
condescends to condense
into living image
from high aloft
he dives and swoops
to stop and float
wings out spread
before an awe-filled face
eye to eye feathers fluttering
and then gone with a gust
(stepping further in
as gesture, as desire
the horizon dissolves
in liquid currents of brilliant color)
the great hummingbird
hovers its sheen
a phosphorescent ruby rose and green
with head turned
a long thin bill
enters slightly the secret eye
as gentle tongue partakes
of spirit essence given
of divine nectar received
and delicate touch.
Take the ore in my soul
burn it hot
burn it bright
that my jagged flakes of Sin
melt and drip to strip
me clean of my dross;
that dark heaviness peeling,
reeling from the shining pool
of light beneath my feet
rushing in and up fountain-like to fill,
brim and flow over
in a glow of consciousness rising.
My solemn resolve, my heart
eyes your silent taciturn Goodness.
Clad me in your armor,
bind me with belted blade.
With mind sharp and heart pure,
I have felt you from afar.
I long for your approach
as I reach with might and will,
arms stretched wide, palms radiant and warm.
You speak only to the worthy
who sacrifice All to walk
that deep, narrow, and arduous path to Shamballa,
to that future Love
pulsing presently through your hard Grace,
that blazing golden pillar, that ascending sword,
that searing light ... waiting, ever waiting.
Will we come?
Will we penetrate the deeps
to redeem and rise
to receive your astringent Beauty
your piercing Strength,
like the Lily the beaming shafts of midday Sun?
O, Countenance of Christ,
might you teach my heart to speak your name
that from my lips may resound your silent Word, your Will.