Bruce Cockburn - Understanding nothing

High above valley above deep shade coloured with the calls of cuckoos, the ring of coppersmith's hammer... high in the hiss of the wind, wind filled with spirits and bright with the jangle of horse bells... after a crisp night crammed with stars it's morning. Over the scratched-up soil, scorched-earth wasted, long shadows lead women bearing water. I watch the sway of skirts, think of moist spice forests -- too many pictures swirling vertigo momentum of civilization threw me too far over this time-simple landscape and i hang here in this mountain light a balloon blown full of darkness -- got to let this ballast go got to float upward till i burst weavers' fingers flying on the loom patterns shift too fast to be discerned all these years of thinking ended up like this in front of all this beauty understanding nothing. rhododendrons in bloom, sharp against spring snow remind me of another time in japanese temple -- there was a single orange blossom at the wrong time of year -- seemed like a sign -- when i looked again it was gone. weavers' fingers flying on the loom patterns shift too fast to be discerned all these years of thinking ended up like this in front of all this beauty understanding nothing.