Bridge of Ancient Echoes

 

I understand Dawn if it is a Goddess's verse

Primordial and growing

Ethereal living body

Arcane presence

Intense nymph of the clouds

Lover in my awakenings.

The first four verses of "Alborada" (Dawn) offered us the foundational "aria" for the lyrical journey of the entire book, a song-path of deep exploration. In this second poem, a simple love song is expressed to the tenderest symbol of the nascent Light, evoking a luminous bridge between the sacred and the profane, between the cosmos and the intimate and vulnerable human heart. This is a poetic gesture that transmutes the everyday dawn into a mystical and personal revelation. From a purely literary perspective, the text articulates its vision through an extended metaphor. Each verse adds a new layer of meaning to the central figure of the dawn, meticulously constructing a personal theophany—a direct manifestation of the divine. The musicality of the piece is achieved through the repetition of adjectival structures and the progression of its images, guiding the reader from the boundless and primordial to the intimate and immediate, all of which finds a subtle resonance in an internal rhyme that unites the "growing" (“creciente”) flower of the Dawn with the "Lover" ("amante") who awakens in my own soul.

The first verse, "I understand the Dawn if it is a goddess's verse," is a conditional declaration of long and intimate resonances. If the Dawn is something divine, then I understand it completely, and it illuminates my day: only as a reference to a Goddess does so much beauty make sense. And for me, for my personal biography, the first goddesses were Greek, vital, fiercely erotic, and audacious; they represent a connection to childhood and to a sweetly earthly poetic vitality, while my later divinities, those of India, are subtle universal forces that traverse my longings for immortality, today dissolved in vaster oceans than those that limit the masks of the Devas. The verse that underlies this first one of "Alborada" (and the entire book), linked to my childhood and the poetry of Homer, is the epithet of the Greek Dawn, Eos: "ῥοδοδάκτυλος Ἣώς" (rhododáktulos Ēōs), "rosy-fingered Eos" or "Eos of rose fingers." Eos is the verse of the Goddess that is woven pentagonally into the Pythagorean rose, a symbol of cosmic harmony and arithmo-geometric perfection that immerses my consciousness in the most primordial mysteries.

The first two verses of the poem thus articulate what was once my daily experience and what is now, seen through eyes that read ancient hymns, my experience of the world of life that ceaselessly rotates and moves in growing cycles. "I live my life in growing circles that pass through things," Rilke sang, and in its embodied center my body, gravitating towards the finitude of Existence. This space or living ether of the Goddess's body is the matrix of a return that lives day by day. Each turn is more intense, more complete, and more full, saturating my psyche with nostalgia. An ascending spiral of inexhaustible refinement.

The Dawn is always Primal, like the virginity of Aphrodite that unravels in passions to be rewoven with the New Light. With the Dawn, we enter the space of meaning we call being alive in the human, an arcane living as a rite, as cosmic Rta and Law of the depths. The Dawn and its sister, the Night, are the way for things "to be here"; they are the presentation of the ritual of the Law of the Sun: to be born, to grow, and to die. Every ritual is inscribed in that triangle of meaning, and with the ritual, every narrative and myth that traverse and transform the rite into signs and ciphers that open the doors of the Infinite.

The arcane presence of the Dawn subtly veils the arcane essence of the Night. Dawn and Night, lovingly exchanging their colors, as the Rigveda says, suckle their common child: the Human. You, who read these words and make them resonate within you, are the child of the Dawn and the Night, and not only as a human, but as a symbol of the longing that grows in the human from the Dawn, the aspiration of Agni, who ceaselessly summons divinities and brings them to my words of nostalgia... encounter and Ishq.

Trikala thought leads me to the arcanum of the clouds in the Aurora. In the passionate cloud, the Light adorns the nymphs of the water. The Light, which is always gala, writes on an ethereal canvas the memory of all those who once looked with longing at the Dawn. The Rishis of old look at us mirrored in the eyes of the Dawn, immersed in the cycle of awakenings and oblivion, where my lips return to those of my Luminous Lover. Each new cloud of light repeats a transpersonal fractal archive of wonder and joy at seeing the morning break. I accept its invitation and cross the bridge of ancient echoes of the Dawn.