14
Now... my turn to be serious. With troubled look
I said to her : This is a grand, mysterious edifice,
Natasha. As regards the harmony of the universe
of which you spoke, I’m hesitant... since to invoke
a radial wheel of contraries brings to my mind
all those hard oppositions I can’t reconcile
so easily – sweetness with bitterness, smiles
of joy with trails of tears... kind with unkind...
Her eyes’ blue-emerald shone more brightly then
as, slowly, she said : You draw near the crux
of our mystery play. Man stands in the matrix.
Wisdom cleaves down the line between angel &
animal, spirit & flesh. A soul’s neither sweet
nor bitter in essence, but rather salt – a fiery,
ineradicable cube of everlastingness, which only
the Source from whom it came lifts to complete
fulfillment : one lifelong & filial love-devotion.
That central deed we discern through this lens.
Look. I lifted the crystalline trifocals again.
They will help you understand. A procession
of poets & philosophers, artists & saints revolved
with dancing, singing steps around the 28 cloud-
gray pillars of that armature beside the river... led
by Black Elk arm-in-arm with Simone Weil (beloved
rose of France & Israel). & then I saw descend
out of the sky a shining-shimmering iris of gold –
some kind of tapest-riant bow had softly sheathed
her domical salience (in luminous-reclusive shroud).
6.2.12
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