The New Life Second Stage For Marie

I have asked the wisest men and women about these small things. Some stare me down, without so much as the courtesy of a 'fare-thee-well' and good-bye. Others look extremely hurt, zero in on me. Confused, I withdraw. Only one of these seers treated me as an equal, a man in his early forties who spoke of the romance of the rails, who still bounded on the moving train in St. Paul and rode all the way to Portland. I'm not sure what lesson he was meant to teach me, unless it was just the good will he conveyed, the hope he engendered. One Sunday in June, I crossed paths with MONICA, a young seer in a bright yellow summer dress, in a garden in Golden Valley I had never before entered. Before I could speak, she said, 'You're not ready for the small things, much less the Cascade of Light. Here, read this. Begin now! ' She handed me a manuscript that was handwritten, the cover page was beautifully inscribed, 'The Book of the Sun' by Marsilio Ficino. 'I know this, I've read this, ' I responded excitedly. 'No you have not. You only acquired your eyes today.' Her face was beautiful and stern. 'Read it. We will meet again.' And then there was only yellow light where she had just stood in her summer loveliness. I was bereft, but in my hands was the 'The Book of the Sun'. I sat down on a bench by a fountain, and commenced reading with my new eyes in my new life... Deep within, I heard Monica's voice, now sweet and gentle, 'Don't stare at my face, Daniel. Look deeply within. Poetry is not the surface of things, it is.... '