Transcendence

By Sophie Rouméas

I want to travel life like poetry.

Life answers, Let’s travel each other.

I travel from word to word

as we travel from age to age.

I’ve met Verlaine, Rimbaud, and even Marcel.

I’ve plucked Baudelaire’s flowers,

smelled the rose of The Little Prince,

filled my senses with

the dampness of morning.

I’ve walked fields of poppies

where the sun bathed me in its light—

oceans and deserts, too,

I left the Garden of Eden

to explore the dimensions of humanity.

I’ve met happy people, controlling men,

powerful women, helpless children.

I’ve lived in countries

where the flag of innocence

does not exist.

I’ve seen sometimes

that love was a transaction.

I’ve crossed rivers to find love.

It burned my skin,

my heart.

I drew on the sweetness of my womb,

breathed in the Passion of Man,

then asked Christ to save me.

I touched the shadows of my soul,

turned my gaze from them,

met the depths of my being,

wished with all my might

for the day to come back.

I turned over the stones of the garden,

looked for answers

to questions that didn’t have any,

found questions I wasn’t supposed to ask.

A subject becomes what we make of it.

I traveled outside of my body,

outside of my own footsteps

even lost my personality.

I finally found my original essence

at the bottom of myself.

I’ve smiled at smiles,

cried in response to tears,

sang along with intoxicating music,

embraced my life mission,

reassured and guided disillusioned souls.

We voyaged In Search of Lost Time—

the alchemical recipe of the Philosopher's Stone—

the entry into absolute consciousness.

Transcendence is the engaged presence

to a flower, a tree, a bird, a mist,

the love of two bodies, the caress of a kiss,

the taste of a ripe fruit, the scent of a sunrise,

the movement of a wave, the silence of the mind.

Transcendence also appears when a child is born of love,

(though adults sometimes leave

the transcended state

while the ego seeks maturity.)

Dear children, the clock is ticking,

the forests ripe from season to season.

Above all, transcendence

is the dance of the flame of life,

no matter what awakens the inner vibration.

This morning, I dreamt of you:

You walked towards me,

took my hand, and introduced me

to the tree that contains your dreams.

I am moved.

It is an honor, a gift

to be offered entrance

to someone's garden.

I keep my hand in yours,

fill myself

with your presence.

This morning, I will leave

everything not necessary.

I will savor the air around me,

infused with your dream company.

I enter a new transcendence.

I have found my meant-to-be,

the one who walks the words.

This morning, I will stop walking

and sit in silence at the foot of your tree.

I watch you sleep.

When you open your eyes,

I will kiss you.