"The voice of the turtle..."

"I am coming,"
ancient turtle
says to me
as she lifts
one foot, and
then places it
slowly in
front of her,
before
hoisting her heavy core
up, and
over,
into a new center
of gravity

"Oh," I sigh,
"I so want,
what you
have..."

I say it
with the
wistfulness of
one who has
longed for home...
a place to call
her own.

A home I can count on,
disappear into,
and never have to leave...

"Ahh, child,"
she says with the voice
of an ancient.

"I only move forward by
sticking my neck out.

My pace is slow and yet, I still
take all my very small
steps on tiptoe
as if this earth beneath
my feet, is a delicate
thing....

I stop often and
must scan left and right,
left and right...I am
never sure if the next step
will take too long to
recover from.

This home that I carry on my
back,
it must be carefully balanced...

The protection and security...
the thing that you crave
is also my
burden.

I will never
hover like the butterfly,

run like the cheetah,

reach the depths of the
sea with the flick of
a tale like the
great whale,

or explore the
river's edge,
like the tiny minnow. 

Yes, I have a home,
but it costs me.

My wisdom is
that I have learned to bear
this burden...
that is my home...
without pride,
or complaint.

Your neck is always sore
because you long
for attachment to the earth...

to be tethered to
a place...

but still
you want to see as
far as the eagle
who soars.

You stretch yourself
between the ground you ache
to own...

the secure silence,
the sure hiding place,
the sacred stillness -- you
think will give you something
you have never had...

and the "heights of Mind"
you dream of knowing.

Climbing is hard for me

I must imagine much
of what comes naturally to
the bird who has no shell,
for the sheep who follows
easily the Shepherd's voice,
the goat who skips and leaps
across crevices and
scattering scree along the
path to the
mountain's summit.

I must imagine...

I have no voice,
my pace is ponderous,
but I have this
shell
you dream of...

Yes, it is mine....
and I love it
because it is,
what is.

But...
what is your truth
child...
what is your truth?"


*this poem comes from a silent conversation I had with a great Aldabra Tortoise at the St. Louis Zoo on August 27th of last year.