It was the wild horses running in the morning light across the open land where we had laid sleeping just hours before.
I remember how the sun felt—out there—where my Spirit ran as fast as my eyes could spin around the World.
It came to me hours after it had shed the false colors of a self-dishonored humanity.
In its own redemption the day star painted my mind’s eye with a boundless brilliance which was all embracing in its friendliness, and unconditional in its happiness.
Ninety-three million miles of marigold quartz lovingly pierced my heart with its arrow of cataclysmic wonder.
I recall the melodious euphony I could hear as the wind blew a necklace of energy throughout the mountains, and the birds floated effortlessly upward on the heat currents of the rising morning.
An untouchable freedom encircled the land, and in their wings liveliness meditated a sovereign fierceness of pride.
I heard the hopes and dreams of TREASURE, DIGNITY, FOCUS, and VIRTUE—natures of intangible properties of an innocently tame-less creation whose enchantment is All in its sublime fury.
I can still see the wild horses running in the soft drizzle of the dawn as we drove away under a canvas moving in a panoramic grayness.
The whole world was so existentialistically quiet, yet, the silence intoned as if the emotions of God were speaking through nature—full of epics— complete in no need of words.
And the clouds looked as if they knew something, too, in their shapely characters playing with my mind.
Their tempestuous confidentialities held storms of centuries-long daydreams and legends.
They held in their winds secrets of final testimonials confessed in departing breaths from the ends of bitter heritages that passed away into sagas, right or wrong… and the rains gathered, and fell, and quenched, and flooded, and fed, and gathered again.
Artists say they hear inspiration that comes from nowhere onto paper which once held nothing—it’s like a brainstorming muse washing away the invisible ink’s concealment on love letters to us from God.
When I saw a domain where everything seemed possible in the silence, my heart was returned to me.
For in the creative splendor of a sweet & noble wildness, I heard the music of a deep affection. I walked within the colorful, adventurous Paradise of an ancient, spiritual loyalty, and I understood completely, without explanation, why I have heard it is the land where souls come to be born.
COPYRIGHT, 1997, by Diane M. Maietta. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.