Jaye Marie and Anita Dawes

We walked up the hill before the dawn, a silent procession through the sleeping village. Cloaked figures led the way to the gate. No-one spoke, none broke a silence kept in vigil. Until the lamb looked at us and greeted us thrice with its plaintive cry.

Eyes met in smiling wonder and a moment’s magic none of those present will forget.

As we approach this year’s annual workshop, I cannot read even what I myself wrote back then without a smile and the tales shared by the Companions who walked with us that day are very dear to us.

This poem was written by Kevin Patrick and dedicated to all those who attended the Birthing of the Silent Eye. Somehow, it seemed appropriate to post it again today for Good Friday.

The Lamb

I am a Lamb, at least,
That is what I am told those strange creatures…