, , , , ,

What do you do when the inspiration runs out, when the song stops playing? Please stop by and listen to Plato read his beautiful new poem: The Word made Flesh.

Music to my soul

The Word made Flesh

Where did the music go

What does the poet do when the Song goes silent

He must wait and listen

There are empty spaces in all compositions

A foundation of silence, of stillness, which makes all else possible

Without the empty still spaces movement is random and vibration noise

Is is not a horrible thing

There is no reason to be afraid

Only wait and listen for Her cadence, Her rhythm

That is your Soul’s Groove silly forgetful man

She will return again as She wills

She is not a creature tamed and trained to do tricks for others

She is alive and wild like the wind

When She moves raise your sails and let Her fill them with Her

Ride the storms of Her, feel the touch of Her cooling breezes on your skin

When She is quiet you are not abandoned, it is only a punctuation between the next Word waiting to be spoken

When She is still remember that even your breath is filled with Her

In Her you live and move and have your being

She has stirred and taught and moved and awakened your sleeping Self

The inner world has grown and now awaits the poet’s action

Her stillness is a signal that there is Outer work to be completed, a new balance to be discovered

She moves at the will of the Creator continually calling forth the intention of you

A new creation, a path in the wilderness, a spring in the desert manifest on the material plane awaits

The Outer life can be a trap and a trick, but so too can the labyrinth of the Inner

Her rhythm seeks harmony and balance, consonance

Her movement calls you in, Her stillness sends you out

It is never either/or but Both

The Word spoken from before the foundations seeks It’s incarnation in you