Parachilna

Coming to the winter winds blowing across the salt-lake plains as we came out of tracks on the north-west passes of the Flinders Ranges

PARACHILNA

At the wall of wind that blows
one day for, one day against us,
in the face of bare tousled plains,
in blue rabbit-runs of saltbush,
in bird-freighted twigs of heath,
in freckles on blue of total sky

Parachilna, Parachilna,
here some mostness is

The sky is an envelope
ripped wide open for
the letter of this earth.

Parachilna, Parachilna,
something most here is.

How big can the sky be?
How far can far away become?
When the Flinders Ranges fall
off toward Lake Torrens and
the levelled horizons all orb away
how to brake ourselves from
sailing on into empty billowing?

Parachilna, Parachilna,
Where, where can one be?

This sky is an envelope
ripped wide open for
our letter of earth

Parachilna, Parachilna,
Here, here one can be!

Spirit can soar when the world
is wider, wider than a world we clung
to know. Soul can eat vast draughts
of emptiness and be replete, replete
with unaskedness, as eye can widen
to new less fixed points of view
in seeing that makes a sight
not just another thing to see.

Parachilna, Parachilna,
The wind pushes one to see it

This envelope is an open sky
ripped wide open for
the earth to begin its letters

Parachilna, Parachilna,
One pushes us to see the wind.

Parachilna, Parachilna!
One is humbled to bow
in the Immensity.


* * *
Parachilna, South Australia, early June 1995