Eyes of the Storm
 
 

Lear learnt his lesson
from the storm.
Not on some suntanned 
summer beach,
but in the wildness,
face awash with rain,
that old, hard head was broken
by the thundering dark
and saw the truth by lightning.

We poor fools,
freezing in our motley rags,
learn best in winter,
where the cold, wet wind
cuts through comfortable pretence,
when days are short 
and in the lonely night,
we wake to wells of ourselves,
the deep, dark, secret
wells of ourselves...

And find at the centremost source
a stillness waiting 
with outstretched arms.
Then crying like children,
urgent, inarticulate,
we're lifted, held,
at one with the tempest,
whirled in its dance, 
even as the storm breaks,
we dance, dance with Joy.
 

Andrew Charles Dallaston 
(1987 ) COPYRIGHT