Calligraphy

 Reminded of this today...

Calligraphy 

A new pen today.

A stranger in my hand.

Capable of so much

but halting as yet in its 

generosity of ink.

There is a courtship of courtesy

needed in every encounter 

with the new,

whether pen or person.

I, with my attention,

now create a partnership

of presence,

that wakes the essence

of the tool and allows 

it become, more.

I must slow down 

and learn its ways;

how the nib wishes to touch

the infinity of paper,

how its character 

comes through

its balance and heft 

in my moving hand.

There is a dance 

to be done here;

I flowing with it,

it flowing with me.

Each in turn leading

the other.

So far though only

stumbles today.

They set me thinking 

of favoured pens

and pools of ink past:

the reed I cut, split and carved,

chiseling staccato letters 

in broad script.

The quill from a swan's wing

that taught gentleness of form,

curved to fit just so 

into the waiting hand.

The chinese brush 

sweeping over the ink stone, 

its line responsive

even to the merest breath.

They all bestowed 

their blessing of form,

carving emptiness 

by their alphabets;

gothic, uncial, 

copperplate, or free 

and flourished,

allowing thoughts 

to become 

presence,

to become sound 

and story, 

maps of meaning 

drawn in ink.

So too are we, 

perhaps, pens

in the eternal hand, 

when, unresisting,

we allow the Word  

manifest mystery,

becoming visible in 

our scribed story,

writing wonder

upon the world,

as from our scribbles,

and crooked lines,

our split nibs,

and spattered ink,

there across the page's

progress flashes

now;

at last

illumination!