An Offering

There sits an island, wave-enfoamed

And bright, imbued with day,
And on it certain spells intoned
By the well-intended clay.

From the Seventh Depth unbounded,
Brought once again to sight,
Rises up the barque unfounded
To the showing of the light.

The barque it bears a stranger veiled,
Yet in no sense unknown.
He fills the vessel—never failed!
As a stone fits to a stone.

The barque arrives upon the shore,
The stranger strides the sand,
And to the shining, grainy floor
He giggles his command:

“I come to make my offering
At the shrine of the High Goddess.”

He conjures up a map of signs
And showings of the way.
As for the map and its designs,
It speaks what it must say:

“I am the chart that marks the Path
And in me there is hope.
I clasp against the Day of Wrath
And scurry up the rope.

What came before will come once more,
The not-yet must come true.
This map’s a stream that flows to pour
What you already knew.”

He clasps the map against his heart,
A ribbon in his hand,
And as at last he makes his start,
He utters his command:

“I come to make my offering
At the shrine of the High Goddess.”

Souls lie asleep upon the sand,
And slumb’ring take their watch.
He tickles them upon the hand
With an eye upon the—leaves.

Far up beyond the sandy plain,
Wreathed up in clouds and mists,
There stands a tower like a crane
That stares and ever sits.

He strides light-footed up the hill
Into a forest black,
But knows that darkness is the pill
That brings the sunlight back.

With terrors and with sufferings
He girds the dark trees’ hands,
And with a mind full of forgettings
He mumbles his commands:

“I come to make my offering
At the shrine of the High Goddess.”

Through the bramble’s darkened mess
He idly makes his way,
And the sun he finds in darkness
Has crept to noon of day.

He mounts the tower’s gate, the eyes
That stare into forever.
The crane’s gaze never ever lies,
Nor do its knots dissever.

And through the gate of dark and light
He thus comes into view.
The Goddess knows him by her Sight
And splits him into two.

Now one, now twain, now up the stair
Of the tower in the land,
Ascend they towards the Goddess chair
To recall the lost command:

“We come to make our offering
At the shrine of the High Goddess.”

Now risen to the dizzy height
Of the tower spire’s arc,
Twin brothers scurry into sight,
One shadow and one lark.

They burst into the Entrance way,
To return or to press on?
They run on to the very day,
And right-quick one is gone.

Still with the map and with the ribbon
One presses towards the goal.
The Goddess blessing must be given
If he would save his soul.

Now weary at the final gate,
Red ribbon in his hand,
He pauses to recall the date
And proclaims he his command:

“I come to make my offering
At the shrine of the High Goddess.”

Now heaves away the final portal,
And straightaway he dies,
For no man while remaining mortal
Stares into Goddess eyes.

She mourns him not but takes his flesh
And makes it as her own.
What was unmeshed begins to mesh
In more than flesh and bone.

Now as we know he rose again
And fell once more to earth.
In grace abounding or in sin
There came the Second Birth.

The Goddess stands triumphant,
Red ribbon in her hands.
And in majesty resplendent
She issues her commands:

“Now go to make the offering
At the shrine of the High Goddess.”

There is an island, wave-enfoamed
And bright, imbued with day,
And on it certain spells intoned
By the well-intended clay.

To the Seventh Depth unbounded,
Sunk once again from sight,
Descends the barque unfounded
From the showing of the light.

The barque it bears a stranger veiled,
Yet in no sense unknown.
He fills the vessel—never failed!
As a stone fits to a stone.

No barque remains upon the shore,
No stranger strides the sand.
Yet echoing through every door
Rings the Divine command:

“Now go to make the offering
At the shrine of the High Goddess.”