He thought as he sought a much
More beautiful thought
Ruthless
Than nature’s organic expressions
The subtle calculations
Of an incomprehensible unconscious
Little wonder
We have become such an affliction
On an incalculable beauty
I breathe
Speaking the words in my mind
Over the chatter of thoughts
Breathing in
Breathing out
Displacing the chatter
My thinking stills
So that the maw closes
Upon the vacuum
That is the peace
Of a quiet mind
Without fear
To sustain it
The maw dies
Revealed as an illusion
Created by fear
Don’t misunderstand me
Such exquisite abstraction
Just lacking romance
A place to admire
A picture to hang
But to live there no chance
Then notice the shapes
How each tile had to be cut
Individually
By hand
Just so
Or it would not fit
The precision
It’s astonishing
I draw back a little
And see the larger forms
Shaped by the small tiles
The lines weaving their way
Through the forms
Linking one to another
Delineating them
Then notice the star
In the lower left corner
Or is it a sphere?
How do you create the sense
Of a soft round orb
With nothing but straight lines
And hard edges?
But neither my eye
Nor my mind
Can linger there long
Follow the trail
Walk the maze
A lazy, meandering drive
Through rolling country
Up to the chains
All interlocked
Each link with its own form
Peanuts and hearts
Circles and infinity
Then the letters
Is there any written language
So beautiful as Arabic
In the hands of an artisan
Filigree relief in plaster
Harmonious
With the sweeping strokes
I understand the grace of Rumi
With such elegant script
As a medium
And wonder at what beauty
The translated words
Might speak to me
I step back
Take in the wider view
Such conscious beauty here
But I cannot hold all of it
Not in my mind
Not all at once
The lines and shapes
The forms and individual tiles
The curling words
All of it intertwined
In space and history and culture
A tapestry of ceramic and plaster and time
A small rectangle of wall
Is all so much larger
And beautiful
Than my ability to hold it all
In consciousness
So I open my heart
Let my spirit become my senses
Let experience touch my being
And there it is
All of it
Not contained by me
By my mind
Or my heart
Or my spirit
But I contained in it
It is not the mosaic
Through which the white lines flow
But myself
And so become I
Part of the mosaic
And the mosaic is me
As suddenly as it came
The awareness passes
Though my memory of it
Remains
All such epiphanies
Great or small
Prove to be
Both ephemeral
And eternal
I stand there
Manifest again
Looking upon a mosaic
On a wall
In a fabulous structure
Built centuries ago
Occupied by many empires since
A mosaic of existence itself
And I wonder
If all along
That was the message intended
By artists and artisans
Who designed and created
One small mosaic on a wall
In the Alhambra
Life
Existence itself
Is a mosaic
These sensations of the eye
Become meaning in my mind
And beauty in my being
In a mind
Bent on manipulating them
To serve the present
So bend my mind to fit
The world
Then see only the things
That fit
Ignore the things that don’t
One bit
And I wonder
Need I say more?
Or is there more
To say?
I could ask
What might she say?
Caught in the moment
Mind gone astray
That moment is hers
Not mine to know
Nor is it yours
Not part of the show