The Sage

poem by Ken Holmes, spring 2012

The Seer knows the light of the beginning
Before there were even eyes to see,
When "first there was light"
But oh! Light without eyes makes no sense, you say,
Mere atomic events .... to the ordinary mind
That has not known the light of the mind, yes,
But no, this is light that can shine for the blind
Or make colourful dreams that in no eyes shine
Or the visions on which seers are weaned.

The Seer knows the dark of the middle,
The tales that can never be told,
For evil's face can be a thousand times darker
Even than horror films watched by the bold.
It can lie like poison in a beautiful flower,
Can be the frightening, sombre side of saints
That the public never see and must never know
Otherwise their faith-filled hearts might bleed,
For their saints must fulfil their needs
Of bright smiles without guile and joy unalloyed.

The Seer knows the colours of the worlds,
Oh, more colours even than are found here on Earth,
In auroras, gems, ochres, flowers and Nature's mayhem,
Palettes unbelievable not of pigment made
But of mind-light, wisdom's loving radiance,
On the screen of inner softness displayed
And made to heal the world.

The Seer knows the trials and joys in store,
The surprises concealed behind tomorrow's door,
The spaces far removed whence you came
And how, in other times, you played the game,
Gambled your gifts and invested your heart,
Put things together or tore them apart.

The Seer knows the colour of the end,
The blood sacrificed into white and red
The powerful transitions known only to the dead,
The flickering, flaring glimpses of the celestial dawn
The tunnels and mountain tops through which most are born.
The ruby red of Dewachen, joyful haven of the few
And the light of the beginning, eternal, anew.

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