A poem biding its time in the "possibles" file for years,
maybe with this morning's tweaking ready to be seen?
Teachings that come in dreams are easily lost,
so teasing, ephemeral,
yet no use grabbing at them fist-like,
crushing dream-diamonds to sand.
Last night I woke from a dream of faces
poised between the male and female
and me as a dream figure there in the field among them
meditating, knees bending flat to the ground,
ideal posture: legs tucked, spine straight
-- mountain-like -- a dignity
I lack in waking life, for
there my knees strain upward, ungainly.
This dream-story focused
on those faces blending the genders,
skillful means and wisdom united.
The dream was telling me such union
would henceforth be my prime devotion,
to rise up from meditative calm
and go about the brutal world
reflecting grace. So, there on my cushion
my dreamed knees at last kept flatly down...
wait, wait, let me experiment with them here
in the so-called "real,"
in this actual body, fierce of will, frail, daunted by pride.