Those Radiant Eyes


Divine Mother could be a withered grandmother,
Bent and twisted with age,
Like an old oak, and they would come.
Why?


If Divine Mother was a beautiful woman.
Yearning Hearts would not come to see Her beauty,
Those Radiant eyes, that Loving smile.

She could be a withered grandmother, bent and twisted with age,
Like an old oak, and they would come.
Why?

It is not Her form that draws them.
It is Love,
Shining through those Radiant eyes, that Loving smile.

Who cares for concepts, theories, or conjecture?
The Heart is weary of such things.
It is Her Radiance, their own Radiance they Long for, and nothing more.

How then, can this one speak,
Unless She pours Love into his Heart, and song into his mouth,
And flows from him like a river into the Hearts of those who “Hear”.

Oh, Beloved, be with me, become me, and I you.
For without Your Grace, your Wordless Radiance Blessing all who Hear,
I am nothing more than a cackling crow.