“What a cloud can teach:” a poem and reflection on listening and devotion

What a cloud can teach

Do not let them say
you cannot hold onto a cloud,
Mother of the rain,
Father of the cool shade.

As one of your hands rests
in the other you realize
you are holding yourself.

You are that which you seek,
and that which you seek
has found you and pours forth
from the one soul we all share.

The one who knows this is free
and kisses the sky.

One soul, one finding,
one cloud to taste
this morning’s light.

I do not know if there is a specific word or definition for that space and time between fully sleeping and first waking. Is there a word for that delicate moment when I first begin to wake but am not fully awake, standing between worlds, as it were? Dream space. Holy space. Liminal space.Subscribed

This is where many of the dream-poems come from now. I lie there, still and listening. To me, that is often the most sincere prayer. Something is speaking, someone is offering a word, and it is my devotion to listen, to receive. Yes, devotion is the right word.

The first four lines of this poem came that way, suddenly and gently:

Do not let them say

you cannot hold onto a cloud,

Mother of the rain,

Father of the cool shade.

I have learned that, after I lie still and listen for whatever might come—knowing many mornings that whoever this is must have work to do elsewhere—I can take my phone and type in the message. I can dictate what has come and then often fall back to sleep.

After I woke up that morning, I came downstairs to make breakfast and I slowly repeated these four lines, listening deeper for what else might be there. It feels both delicate and strong at the same time.

Maybe we can all practice listening this way.

Blessings,

Stuart