Winged Energy of Delight


One of us is submerged and wishing to float. Another is calm despite the choppy surface of impending change. The elder in the room muses on the irrelevance of aging and invites Ella Fitzgerald to sing us into a hold. Quiet whimpers and low growls grow into insistent barks. Something unseen is sensed over by the corneralter.  The empath in the room burns a sprig of sage, cleansing the space while feeding us love. And the gracious leader of this writing table reports buoyancy from the bottom of the ocean— there is one. Through the open window, we hear a sacred rattle, a few notes of a flute, a breeze through the leaves. There is the ground, the rattle, the flute, the sage, this collective of lovelies, the turbulence and the calm. We close our eyes in levitation with Rilke's Winged Energy of Delight.