Horizons of Light
Do you believe in ghosts? in gods? in souls?
I understand if you don’t
but from this doubt perhaps you’ll see
the trepidation I feel when I tell a story
It all began long ago before the earth was fully formed,
before the first fossils left the proof that we were born
in the cauldron of stars
the mystery schools say,
is the beginning of ours,
an evolutionary tale
dimmer than a dream,
swirling in stardust,
higher beings,
they worked upon us,
You don’t have to believe,
this is not to decide Truth, you see
but only to imagine where each truth leads,
truths about atoms, and evolution, of stars and seeds
People ask me what I do, people see,
they think,
based on what comes into view,
what I am,
what I mean
But our experience is like a candle,
in moonless depths of the unknown,
we remember, we are
only where our truths have shined
so far
and beyond
where the last map is drowned,
on the shores of all dreaming,
only hints are found
and still always our questions rise,
beyond the boundaries our truths have cast before our eyes
I hesitate often to answer the simplest thing,
because in the world of matter its about do-ing,
as for the project of souls, the bridge is still incomplete,
the body a process,
to destinies that sleep
And what can a ghost tell you of his day,
who cannot move even the smallest grain,
but reads in layers invisible to the eye
the shadows cast by each action
that we take
While scientists observe,
the motions in matter,
the mystic,
eyes closed,
she perceives
and in their way each finds different paths, unfolding into the darkness, different possibilities
you can guess which one I took
one foot on the road, one in the unknown
I understand the looks
swirling in the wind, like a leaf lost from the tree
in the eyes of the world, such a waste, what a pity
but I can accept the weight of judgment still, for while I never developed three dimensional skills, and be it reckless to forsake the safe for the unseen
the experiment of my life led toward the secret of be-ing
and my message…
isn’t found through questions,
but is remote as the voices of leaves,
the spark in your hands,
not what men know
but just how it feels
to follow fading hints to further shores
to unlock with keys of pain our inner doors
I fire arrows at the sun across the trajectories I have explored
and still
there’s no sign
no studies, or stature, or C.V.
to show I used my time
no prints in print or sand or stone
to prove I was alive
like stars winking dimly across the vast unconscious night
our warmth
is wasted in the distance
our ideas
have cast upon existence
and to the soul’s hollow the mind cannot follow
and science is left staring into the dust
and besides,
the message is something I’m still seeking,
I’m not living to survive
I may never deliver
but the universe is always speaking,
and we dream with the senders
and thrive
As someone who never fully arrived in 3D, to me it seems
we’re still learning to be redeemed
by the stories
taking shape
within the cycles
within our ancient souls