The Far Journey Poem by Vanya Orr

I stood in the town,
Constrained,
In the drizzle:
Houses cluttered round me.
And people-
Kind, unkind; warm, cold;
Laughing, sad; loving, cruel;
-Jostle me

Concrete seals off the hill’s heart
And neon, the plough.
And I am not free.

Yet I am free
In the “beyond time” bit of me.
And I am glad of it.
For here are friends of the long journey
And a bonding at dawn & dusk.
Hands reaching out to the Agni,
That shared the fire,
Oh, countless years before.
[A wide steppe and glimmering fire
On faces at the beginning of things;
Figures blanketed & wrapped.
Horses restless, stirring in the dark
And the spirit within us
Rising with the day]

The Sanskrit words
Call out of those beginnings.

And dried out Elementals
Hear and come-
Leaning into the wall to draw their nourishment.
And loving hearts are there
And Light gathering within:
The midnight hour illuminated
And the Child born

So I can move on.

And I am not free.
But I am free.
And nothing changes-
Only in the deep”beyond time” bit of me.

And the stars sing in the tree
And water over stone
And my breath
Warm, on the hill


(Blaen yr Henbant December 1990)