Synopsis
“Mine is a lyric muse That trips to syllables unsung And wings its way to ears unknown. Any season, every season can be the beginning of the Soul’s seeking. The birthing of life in Spring, the fullness of life in Summer, the maturation and waning of life in Fall, the dullness and hibernation of life in Winter.”
Each season brings its own insights, each its own growth. These poems belie an insight once shared by Douglas Steere: “Before you have had a mystic experience, no words can convey it; afterwards, no words are necessary.” Yet those of us whose lives have been so graced often find ourselves struggling to express these experiences, share them, communicate them, however falteringly, in words – if only to others who have also been to the “well of living water.” Thus I suspect that the words that follow will resonate primarily with those who somehow share the mystic experience. Still, I will always wonder when and in what season the spiritual cycle began for each of us? And in what form have the seasons of the Soul taken in each of our lives?
