The  Sculptor by Zen Gardner

With a  slow, steady pace he swings and hits – With the hammer he strikes his blows

Now up, then down with a pummeling sound – As he digs for the figure enclosed

He chips and carves, then stops and stares – As he wipes his brow and sighs

Then it’s back with a whack and another piece cracks – As the monolith sheds its size

 

Now no one can see what the artist perceives – Or why such persistent pursuit

Of a form inside as if buried to hide – From the hammer and chisel’s repute

 

But the sculptor strives on in his labor of love – Though he strikes with the force of a blow

To free the form that’s entombed inside…alas David, di Michel-angelo!

 

From earthen clay and rough hewn stone – Came the sages and seers we revere

Why is it then as we break and mold – We protest, or shiver in fear?

 

We all come deep from the quarry of earth – And are sculpted and hewn for our tasks

With strong skilled Love only seeking the best – Bringing freedom from weights and the masks

 

So when the blows seem to so far exceed – What we thought we could ever bear

And can no longer stand all the pain we feel – Or rejection and depth of despair

 

Remember the sculpting, steady and true – Is Creation just freeing us here

Relax and receive as we learn to perceive -That the pain is illusion and fear

 

Remember the process, co-creation in love – As we each are such similar stones

And what’s been begun let creation complete – Though it carves ‘ere so deep to the bone

 

So what may seem to be punishing blows – Are a process of true Love alone

That free us from shackles and encasing weights – That had us entombed within stone!