A Place Called Rainseautear
By
Simon Francis Hambrook
Copyright 2011 by Simon Francis Hambrook Smashwords Edition.
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Introduction:
In the last moments before his death a young Native American man speaks to the wind in the wilderness. Due to fairness in the universe his message is not lost, and it is spoken here. These then are his poetic memories, dreams, visions and visitations . . . . . . . and his Spirit calling.
A Place Called Rainseautear.
A silent truth
My love, my love is as a stormy white waterfall and although it is stormy it is not witnessed as such. For the beauty of the water’s falling even falls over that demand. The water falls and is beautiful – watching it one allows a pure peace in the heart.
My love, my love is as a waterfall and more. She is an equivalence to the glory of the ever - pouring water. I have been through one, a waterfall. It was when I was fishing on the high river, there I was swept by wrong footing and I fell fifty feet or more through the moving, downward fountain. Ten seconds, and my eyes were as if open for all of them. And my self, my self it became so thoroughly alive. I have never been a man of fear and so as I was in this waterfall of heavy pouring water I touched this expression like I would touch a beautiful girl for her first time. I touched this expression, when I was falling. I remember distinctly the way that my arm moved to caress the gentleness of her nature. For you know . . . . . . . . . . . . I knew it was there.
Then I kissed her. Of the briefest moment we exchanged lips. Both of us felt this. It was as though some magnitude happily escaped inside of wonder, and what would have been two became an unheard of number, mightier, ever increasing beyond a hundred. It was as though I kissed and was kissed back with the passivity of angels who were women once. The waterfall showed me then its beauty, passivity - a command of letting. But I am talking of the divine, silent, sometimes found commands, and here only one – the command of letting.
Still the arrival of time would not come as I kept falling and the beauty of an after – kiss of an angel let me be also understood: In here I was understood as essential in being, as unimportant, except to my own longing to be. I was shown the vastness of my possibilities as if twelve thousand diamonds were suddenly, gladly placed all around me, and they shone for my contentment.
In the centre of the room of a waterfall where a man falls he finds his own newness of living. A breath that is beyond freshness, yes, a revelation of nature which responds to its own visibility by revealing to you your own inherent essence. The room is filled with quiet as if it were the furnishing or chosen material of the Architect. Then, in this arranged comfort which appears only as comfort for it is born of beauty and all that is holy, there is the notion to think of who is the Architect. This thought is so very beautifully arranged by the surroundings. There is no trick or game. There is only the majesty one encounters when one begins to realise one is actually entering a vastly beautiful, all – pervading and holy design. What is greater even than this is that this actually takes place with the clarity that all this is true existence, true expression.
The moment fades and you return to beauty, from where you have just been – exceeding beauty. You are suddenly calm and wise like a child with no pretence or questions. Something has been revealed and ‘Love’ begins to attach itself to the form of your ideas about this experience. Everything that you both wished for, and was distant, begins to appear. All that was kept from you for reasons you only now know , comes about to be absorbed into your gratitude as you serenely answer the prelude of your death with this . . . . . . . an unbounded Praise ( which repeats itself silently , a thousand times in the space of this last second ) .
You will never have met my love. I was among it on the rocks at prayer, beneath the pines I fished by when I was young. My love was no woman of earth with looks made to bring one into cosiness and attraction. No, my love was born in my breast and it caught fire by the relay my breast had to my eyes which visioned. My eyes from the relay of the breast shined, as love does when it is brought out from its home into a place where it may be seen. Perhaps, yes perhaps you were one of the few to catch this love which was not mine, yet which shined from my eyes. Like that young child, or that Antelope, or lastly – that Waterfall.
My love was no woman of earth with looks made to bring one into cosiness and attraction . . . . . . . . . . Oh listen how our love is made in our hearts and our love is made with looks like a true Son or Daughter of the One!!!
The beautiful disruption
A vision is like the cloud that floats and moves into heavenly silk, material of fair lands where it stays until the wind again brings it from out of this disruption. It is a disruption for the cloud to stop suddenly while the wind is moving it. In the sky these occurrences do, we affirm, never happen, yet in the occurrences of the mind in the heart impossibilities of such loved inspection are allowed. Let me tell you of them.
I shall tell it to you as though the hearts mind were indeed a cloud. The fair cloud begins to approach an area not appropriate for its course. For in this space lie materials of another realm , materials which not only cannot lie suspended as they do in the air , but which can only be grouped together so impossibly by a perfect intention. The perplexing but yet not worrying or anxious thing for the cloud is that it is made apparent by the sender of this perfect intent that what one is among is nevertheless supremely real.
The mind in the heart usually only exists among men and women for brief moments. The carrier of this mind in the heart is not totally involved with true reality because of his or her imperfections. Thus the mind in the heart does not exist as a vehicle until moments cherish it and bring it into suitable being so that it may explore, live, grow and increase in perpetuity. For the mind in the heart grows as with each visit. Thus, when told by a certain delivery of astounding authority which is odd , even odder than all odd things to refute: that what one perceives is real, then ones mind in the heart in the presence of this has an increase in awareness and perceives supernal reality. All this appears with the light of it as a gift.
One then realises, as one has opened to this gift, that what one beholds is real, good, true, holy. One then realises that what one usually perceives is unreal, untruly good, untrue, never holy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . This is a little bit like what an experience of the miracle of holiness is, yet with an incredible amount more of very life sustaining and vibrating brightness.
A Princess among snows
“Could there be a Princess here, among these snows? “ – I said aloud in the Wilderness. “Will I meet an equal Soul who is a woman, will she come from the opposite side of the hill, will we meet in the centre for the first time and immediately embrace? “ The next day I saw a visible female form which I came to immediately cherish, and I approached her without question or timidity, which is anyway unknown to me. As I was approaching her I realised something. It was not a woman at all, but my blanket caught in the branches of a stream willow. Also, I realised here that all the while that I had thought it was a Princess here among the snows, I was thinking not of her but of the beauty of that place called ‘Rainseautear‘ – where a high stream falls among rocks which hold Oaks amidst the flowing and falling, and the Princess was not in my mind at all.