Vibrations

All work folds in on all work,
like silken wind tossed waves in a field of corn.

Tend it well, tend it lovingly;
the yields will be of inestimable value.

From thought to mind,
from quill to parchment,
from symbol to sound,
your thoughts rise up
to shape the world.

Speak the world beautiful!

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

in honor of International Women's Day

Bell Jar Studies

4.

In the omphalos-domed cathedral,
the priestly voice rises and falls like thunder,
while the choir sounds like soft rain.

The thunder quakes and crackles,
producing tones that are like bombs,
full of metal and fire,
electric and quivering,
but not with life.

The thunder is so full
that no words can be discerned;
as such, no meaning is conveyed.

Nevertheless,

the People sit,
to honor the place
and the time
as holy.

Corporately, however,
attention tends to drift toward
the softness of the rain.

The rain swirls and drifts upward,
then settles downward prayerfully,
upon any spirit,
like a healing salve.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Witness

Points of light play on water;
jewels and precious gems, they are,
dazzling the eyes.

Orderly lines of birds fly,
evolving via ascension,
involuting via descension,
skimming the ablutive waters.

Breath stands, lightly poised,
free to choose silence or song.

Silence in points of light,
bodies flowing through water,
song of joy rising from nothingness:

Perfect love offerings to eternal Witness.

© 20011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Bell Jar Studies

3.

Puffs of smoke,
a soft and fragrant music,
rising slowly,
dissipating.

Entranced,
will follows the traces,
until there are none left.

What remains:
emptiness.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Bell Jar Studies

2.

The delicate flower,

alone in moist soil,
blooms shyly.

Overexposure
to burning rays
unsettles
the fragile atmosphere.

Moisture,
like love,
is withdrawn.

Lack of attention
to need,
from without
and perhaps even within,
results
in death.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Bell Jar Studies

1.

Oh, to study the shape of sound!

To draw out tone for so long that
time seems suspended!
To conduct tone, like gold,
into ever more fine strands,
pulling, weaving, interleaving
—achieving
no less exquisite tone
in the cadential silence
that relieves the beautiful strain
by ever so gentle retreat.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Meetings

Paper worn,
sheets so old
there's no rustle left in them,
more like felt under her fingers,
or softer yet,
like the worn cheek
of a beloved old friend.

Settling the pages,
making them comfortable,
she arranged herself,
just close enough
to see the signs and symbols,
and on them meditate.

Cradling the instrument
within her warm embrace,
she took a long, deep breath,
filling her being with its sweetness.

Fixing her gaze
on those worn pages—
old friends, revisited often;
“the rules of engagement,”
she had once heard;
an apt description,
the thought occurred
—she drew the bow,
forward over the strings.

Then she leaned back,
closed her eyes,
and let the bow find the strings,
the way that they would do,
just now.

Inner ear to mind,
mind to thought,
idea to quill,
quill to manuscript,
symbols dot paper,
shapes greet the eye,
horsehair strokes steel,
steel vibrates wood,
wood sings,
space hums,
body rejoices,
soul soars.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen