Sitting With the Gardeners

A blank canvas an empty stage darkness in the primordial vacuum of stars and space a jug not yet filled a reed flute hallow yearning for the paint yearning for the actors yearning for the light yearning for the water yearning for the lips, breath We assembled that night one by one sat in a circle forming a ring of unity white, brown light, dark skin diverse background diverse personalities in the end-human in the end-friends brothers The smoke swirls, leaps from out mouths, colliding and spinning, a spider web of escaping essence listening to the music of the past, our ears leaping and taking in the goodness. Out comes the poetry words of the past Whitman, Lawerence, Gibran Rumi-our hearts leap with the joy of such wisdom. "Oh Captain, my Captain" "God is born" "On Pain" "Gardens of Soul" Flowers in the garden we all are in a row taking in the sunshine rain and natural nutrition from the earth from the cosmos from the Soul from each other Sultans upon ottomans we recline, seeing what no other pack can see expressions rising and falling, the wave of imagination we glide like the birds on a journey along the Way, guiding and learning from each other We kick up the dust and go beyond the clouds beyond reason and heights, the sky breaking down, its doors letting down its guard, for us. We are spinning with all the protons and electrons, whirling and spinning with all of the cosmos as our playground. Finally we all return to our couches and chairs, the time and hookah our reminder of reality packing up, we the Caravan The Sage of Wisdom The Latin King of Knowledge The Doctor of the Soul The Romantic Seeker The One who always had a Poet in him We all experienced our own Sema, our own level of pure ecstasy, learning and loving each other Inspiration of infinity We will all meet again The canvas is painted the stage has been set the jug is brimming and the reed flute is crying. But not for sadness or pure separation NO it is singing for the bond of friendship