Through the dark tunnel of unknowing
Which is like a canopied wilderness of instinctual fears
Walks the pilgrim in the abandoned desert.
He has been brought to this sacred sight
like a willow-o-wisp carried in the forest
By the soft cool currents of wind
Which cross the beach and dance inland.
And in his settled surrender
His eyes are closed in gentle repose
In order to open his weak ears
To the sound of a finely tuned grace
Rumbling in great green waves
Like tall stalks of grass
Waving in the light of a great field.