The Trefoil Muse

Off the beaten path a rolling stone gathers no moss.  The roll of its movement is like poetry in motion.

At a bridge too far, footsteps linger on a path.

A witness bearer is observing nature.

A rock falls, succumbs to the pressure and breaks in half. It will never be the same. Even pieced together, it will not ever be whole.  There will always be light shining through its center. 

Iridescent and beautiful, a shine traverses the in-between, always seeing both sides of an equation.

Never judging, never choosing which side is better, the lights only purpose; quiet acceptance.

It glistens and flows silently becoming the glue which clings to each half of a shattered foundation then with quiet support, it centers the mass – makes it stronger through the light bond of its touch and creates something new.

Like a bridge too far reaching across a cut-face, light connects both sides.

Some rock hard,  stone like individuals previously stuck begin to cross over from the precipice of the cut-face.  They courageously take small steps until gravity intervenes and they roll smoothly across. Having bridged the gap they celebrate their new found strength.

Fear paralyzes the forward motion of others. Their burden is heavy. They must remain unmoving and solid.

“Even rocks can crack,” they say sadly.

This a dark fact rarely mentioned – cracking is forbidden. It’s taboo to admit weakness or even create an awareness of its existence because one would then notice a concrete failure in their foundation. 

Instead of rounded thoughts and wheels of motion to roll ahead, they form blocks. They see how easy blocks are to stack.  They gauge progress by building barriers instead of bridges. They notice how they feel stuck in the mire and begin to sink as they fall into the pressure of its darkness and crack.

But, they don’t notice the beauty, movement or force of the light connecting the pulsing broken shards of a stone and how it has formed others into glorious pieces of art.  Or, the peace that washes over a shattered, broken work in progress when it transforms through an acceptance of nature and, moves on; forever fragmented but beautifully whole; perfect while they dance and bond with the light of the in-between at the cut-face near the bridge too far.  Free.

Thank-you for following, reading, sharing and commenting – The Trefoil Muse

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