The Voice of Simplicity
This poem came quickly following listening to the old Shaker Song ‘Tis a Gift to Be Simple.”
You can find the link to the song, if you fancy a listen, at the bottom of the poem.
'Tis a gift to be simple...
The queen of the underdogs walked beside me, naked, into the cool salt of the ocean at Windy Gates. My seaweed goddess.
"You're home, Daniel."
It was the second time I'd heard a voice.
Later, in the unraveling, and when I was on trial for the gift of my freedom, one of my liberators, a true friend and ally, asked 'what if you hear a voice and it says...'
He was right to ask.
I wondered too. Hearing voices? That wasn't part of my world view. We had words for people that heard voices, and none of those words included 'divine.' They were - in the way my mother would have said it - 'ugly' words.
Shortly after my liberation a 'therapist', with a softball on his desk and kindness in his eyes, told me: "our job is to make you normally unhappy like the rest of us."
Nonetheless, when I walked into the sand that day, and then straight into the water, called, as if pulled, the cool joy of the weeds gathered around me, and it was good - I did hear Her voice.
We stood in the water, knowing we were where we ought to be. My gorgeous earth companion crowned herself with one of those tendrils of earth water life.
"If you talk to God, it's called prayer. If God talks back, it's called mental illness."
It's good to be home. And if I say to you, 'welcome home, my friend', who's voice do you hear? Mine, or yours?
The voice of one. The sound of Om.
We are Om.
At last, at last, thank God almighty,
We are home in the valley of love and delight.
* Listen to a classic version of ‘Tis a Gift to Be Simple