By the cluster of Honey Fungus
beneath the oaks and by ivy vine
and while the shadows play among us,
the Seeing Stone stands —silent, divine.
Through its circle you can see by eye
beyond the veil of a mortal ’s thoughts,
leaves, trees, a columned hall neath the sky
and the viewpoint whereby truth is sought.
Gaze in to gaze out, eye to the stone,
the self becalmed within rounded frame
to concentrate what is One alone
and know the world by its wordless name.
With one eye closed and one eye opened
we see Life and Death, that grave starkness
known of beginning, betwixt, and end —
the laughing light and deaf-mute darkness.
The Standing Stone was born of the land
in ages long past, before Man rose,
planted in the wombed-tomb by no hand,
knowing the mysteries no one knows.
We may see through this bone of the earth
the living world known as we waken
and, one eye closed, the world before birth
and after death, all such dreams taken.