Journal/ Day 2 and 3/Switzerland Via Alpina

Switzerland 2022

July 2nd & 3rd

The Doorway of Yesterday

—opens like a film.
A sequence of slides creates
windows
held in one elaborate pane
—no specific storyline being written.

Within the womb of the plane,
the descent began
—a shade lifts…a first glance.
I see a blanket of white linens.
Underneath appear points of various
sizes…there is NO order.
Shadows linger expanding the horizon’s
line while a blue sea…is it
the sky?  A seamless wave rolls over
the ice crystals
—jagged peaks held in the sea of
glass offering this first revelation.

The mid-wife caresses her delicate fingers
over the soft crust of sleep’s crumbs
falling from my battered lashes.

Headfirst…the mid-wife laughs
aloud to herself.
She seems to say, ‘I knew you’d
never allow your feet to touch the
ground before you—LOOK!’

Now, I have been re-united—
joined, as if a twin-soul enters from
another womb.  A companion walks
beside me, with me, as so often in
the past, our steps discover NEW meaning.
Here we are.  The shattering of
time distancing us because a pandemic
now seems to gather all these cosmic
pieces together.
Everything fits. 
The doorway opens.  I see a window
of imperfections manifest into
a tale so beyond perfect
that the story birthing itself
starts with, ‘Once upon a time…’

I’m seated—
an altar before me.

Two angels appear…
they place bread, sparkling water,
wine,
smoked meat, laced cheese, tomatoes,
avocado, fresh mozzarella drizzled
oil and balsamic dressing before us.

The soft scent of basil lays
on the blessed dishes.
Sweet communion…savoring the
delicacies set before us…
A sharing of Gospels, each life,
speaking aloud a testament
never read before.
It becomes a part of the glass
tapestry casting this window.

We rise…the mid-wife takes
my hand.  Four of us,
like legs of One table, set out
into the streets, the highways & byways
of Old Town Zurich.  Thousands of
voices speaking aloud, cars & buses
—horns blaring.
There seems to be a ‘pitch’
measured and played.
Stepping to a rhythm writing
itself, we come to the river.

An array of sails holds the day’s
pleasant breeze.
There they are…the mountainous
terrain awaiting the ‘soles’
two of the four disciples gathered
in this moment.

We walked into a church—
Marc Chagall’s Windows, ALIVE.
As the sun shone, highlighting
colors entombed in glass and
Resurrecting the Cathedral of Creation,
A stained-glass window
Its only ‘break’
Which has yet to be revealed.