a gathering

a wondrous grace
envelopes
the dying --

seeps into the room
in a slow flow --

floods
in
during the
silent moments….

it doesn’t stop….

like a rising tide
it touches
all those
present….

it’s as though notices go out through
the ethers….

just like
at a birth….

a new soul is arriving….

gather….

and if you’re very very quiet
in your mind….

if you slow down
the metronome
of your heart

to a gentle meter of love….

you can sense them
coming in….

angels gathering:

the 'dark ones,'
called

by the tremendous labor
undertaken
before you…..

dying:
birthing….

the shutting down of
systems…

the transfer of spirit
from one form, one world,
into
completely
another….

there is huge movement afoot here….

•••

beneath the chaos
of bodies and functions and emotions
and people and family and procedures
and attendants and shock
and disbelief
and awe….

beneath all of this flows
a stillness
that remains always
in control….

contacting this stillness,
you draw inward,

just like the dying/birthing one…

you listen deeply
to the slow churning
underground river…

that flows
central to one’s being

and at the very core of
the world….

•••

this dying one
stands at the threshold
between the worlds,

and we who bear witness

get to peek through the door --
if we are paying attention….

get to glimpse,
sense
an unfurling….

otherwise, we are just lumbering fools,
fighting a battle we don’t understand….

•••

the angels watch us,
standing at our backs
powerless to direct our attention
if we’re distraught
or fraught
or swallowed
by self-pity
or drama
or desire….

but breathing slowly

in the silence,
amidst chaos and noise

watching
a loved one’s body
glide

from labor
into soft, silent stillness….

watching the delicate
flutters of the
throat

as silently and gently
nerves stop firing

and peace alights
with a sigh --

we have the chance to see

a golden moment
appear
and
disappear

curling and drifting upwards
like a ribbon of smoke
from a candle wick….

like a gossamer thread….

twisting and glimmering,

trembling with tiny
dewy
diamonds….

and we stand tingling
and alone

on the edge
of
the web

balanced
between time and eternity….

but with angels

always angels

at our backs…..

________________
© 2010
Beth Anne Boardman