Surfing The Ocean Of Still Poem by Robert Rittel

The waves of stillness
are the motions of my ride,
the ocean of my beloved unconditional sight.
Your gentle kisses are so dear to me,
in that kindred forgiving withdraw to see.
No part has any favor in that eternal now,
in this unfathomable world I slowly grow.
Where shadows reveal the light of depth,
karmic mysteries which have no death.
Where the lesser matter turn to gold,
and the alchemist stillness is not growing old.
The source of innocent love are the unveiled sanctuary,
in that suspended solitary actuary.
That untimely serenely tomb in poetic reverence,
with its indulgent charming consequence.
Voices of living masters from the sacred past,
fountains of the philosophical vast.
For many that dark is a waste of wilderness,
while the matured soul names it the rising of Icarus.
The fires of crystal columns in the holy palace,
Pearls of contemporary spirituality in advance.
I am alive because of these celestial waves,
and millions of preceptors too, by it takes.
The truth without form is the teacher shown,
for reasons the master walks alone.
The candle does not illuminate itself in this avenue,
and for the shadow was nothing more to do.
Riding the ocean of still is the virtue of all conclusion,
by the controlled breath, taking giant waves in evolution.