Before the Beginning.
Pause here. For the gradient
Of silence is changing.
Pause, to hear behind all sounds
The slope of silence deepening.
In the green wall of the forest
In the red wall of the city
Behind the wall of no-sound
Is the no-door of The Aleph.
Here, hands pause in reverence.
Here the fingers bow their heads
Into a gentle fist to nod three times upon
The threshold of The Aleph.
There is no door there is no frame.
There is no wall there is no space.
Here is NOTHING which creates
Every distinction to be made.
Lugs of the Spirit! Hear the light falling.
Lugs of the Spirit! Hear darkness falling.
Un-knowing. Knowing nothing.
The holy, silent sweep of no wing.
Black ash falling from a white winter sky
White ash rising to a black summer sky
But there is one season here, forever
Awaiting the songs of un-created birds.
Nothing is separating and connecting
The upper and the lower waters.
Separating and connecting
The Silence of Light and the Silence of Darkness.
Even the simple images
Are too noisy. Even the
Silent wisdom of the Ravens
And the innocence of the Doves
The green walls of Eden
The red walls of Hell
The walls and gates of heaven
Are exiles of the Aleph.
Truly, truly, without doubt
That above is like unto below.
And that below is like unto
That which is above.
(Mark D. Price 2020)