Veils of Reality: How being blind to how we see makes our problems cyclical

An alternate story of human nature, human history, and human possibility

Horizons of Light

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 hesitation I feel to share my story


It 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

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

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