Thanks to Crispin for allowing me to reproduce this absolutely splendid poem here. The circumstances of its creation occurred one late summer afternoon as he was taking a stroll through the countriside on a perfect day, one of those days that takes your breath away in its perfection. As he walked along, revelling in the beauty of the crystalline sky, the feel of the ground beneath his feet, the rich scents of earth and flowers and greenery on the air, and the sights of the verdent flora, he gradually "heard" music inside his mind - an opera - the most beautiful, indescribable music he'd ever heard and he seemed to be transported to another level of existence, a sort of super-awareness and consciousness. Was it the Music of the Spheres that he was somehow attuned to for those moments and "heard" in its awesome majesty and beauty? To me, this is an achingly beautiful paeon to the Goddess:
Bravo
When she sings, all my worldly
concerns evaporate, dissipate, crumble and
degenerate into petty foibles that now are gone.
No more is my attention hell-bent
against them, fueling and enflaming them
with fury.
All that matters is that I hear the
truth she sings, and how she sings it; the
subtleties that her heart and attention
reveal - how she frames it, how I taste it -
the intricacies that now seem as real and
deadly as tempered steel in the hands of a warrior king.
Oh such piercing blows. Oh such
devastating blows. Yet, they are from
wisdom’s armory, and hit upon one with
the delicacy of a summer breeze. Yet, they
do sting, oh how they sting.
And I, upon my knees can only weep:
bravo, bravo.
Crispin H. Sandford
Bravo Copyright 2004 Crispin H. Sandford. All Rights Reserved. Printed by the Parley Press in the U.S.A.
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