Who we were ment to be.

Submitted by Arjay on
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Are we not all, more than we think we are?
If I dared, do you know what I'd be?
I'd be the depths of a blue crystal sea.
I'd be the joy in a child's surprise,
and I'd be the love bridging lovers clear eyes.
I'd be the smoothness of time polished stone,
and I'd be the riddle of some grand unknown.
I'd be the symmetry in geometric form,
and I'd be the intensity of a thunderous storm.
If you dared, what would you be?.
Which I is the I you'd have others see.
Perhaps we can help each other over the bar?

If I dare

All our I's will fantasize
Our young and eager minds will wander
Besides myself what would I be?
For your amusement I will ponder

A flying bird above the clouds?
With wings of soft black feathers
A tree of fruit in a good mans grove?
O for the life of simple pleasures

An evening cloud lit by the sun?
The sound of children laughing?
The gentle breeze on the face of a wandering poet
As he's walking?

Who we were ment to be.

Eve, you tease me ... soaring on the currents of my mind, above the cloud of my unknowing. I can not see you but I glimpse the outline by the light behind. Shall I plant a tree inviting, that you may descend to enfold itÂ’s branch? I must stop now lest I get carried away thinking ... feathers inviting, might be shed and fall to me as fruit of that tree. But then again I invoke poetic licence.

~

From : Se Cniht (The Knight) - unpublished

... Thus the time of my childhood drew to a close.
When a man-child follows after Wisdom
he must accept what he finds.
My first lessons, as from a good teacher,
were not of expected things.
And tomorrow grew into a distressed awakening
following the slumber of innocence.

Of my vision quest, none were quite aware.
Though now I moved with a labor of limbs
and spoke as in a far away voice.
As If death had cut my shadow
and attached to my by breath to feed.

I followed an impulse into a forest
and then began descent to a low wooded plain.
A chill of autumn tested my resolve.
and soon would come darkness as a blanket for my eyes.

I find a way to warmth beneath some fallen leaves
and fiber and flint enough to make a fire.
I warmed water in a sun bleached skull
and sprinkled herbs and flowers enough to make a tea.
Embers glowed and kindled brightly as they popped.
And I sipped leisurely as the river ran below.
In this pause as I await the morrow,
I feel the weariness of a traveler who has found a soothing rest.
The lightness of my spirit yet opposes a heaviness in my arms.
The fire is lit but darkness narrows my gaze.

I hear voices as from behind an unseen door.
Whisper they in droning voices low and clear
as if to quiet a sudden sense of dread.

Says a man: "Did he not know the poison of the flowers
would open him to visions through the hours."
Says a woman: "He is a worthy pilgrim, grant him what he seeks."
And another: "He can hear, but will he listen?"

I am as a dead man truly now, unfeeling,
wrapped tightly in a sensual sleep,
mind moving swiftly through a fantasy maze
which like a prism bends my thoughts.

In the midst of a triptych folded round I stood
and I lifted my eyes to behold a mirror and a soul
with a label above it which said; "The supplicant, behold."
I fell quiet in amazement, then turned my eyes,
and my gaze fell again upon a mirror and a soul
and the label above it read; "Knight of an order old."
I felt pale and turned quickly to the third of the walls
and again upon it was a mirror and a soul
and a label much smaller read; "Thyself to unfold."

And then a light bursts bright and warmly
from somewhere beyond the mind.
A steady brilliance in a void of space
sends its many hued colors forth to touch my face
and make my darkness as day.

“Choose Life”, says a voice of strong command.

Moving through this eve of imaginings,
Far beyond the comfort of the familiar,
I slip back through the bonds of time
into and beyond the Dionysian ravings.
I strain again as if remembering,
loves first tribal rythym.

Within a land I'll call Oridon,
In a valley wide I'll call Weavers Web,
there was a celebration of the most ordinary
and a liberty, born not of drinking,
yet life was made sacrament with the vine.
Wonder was wed with every silence.
And healing combined with all tears.
Joy was overflowing with playful contagion
as dance was animation to stories in the stars.

It was a time of wild exuberance,
when magic windows revealed the world
from where once there were but eyes,
as if the sun laid diamonds on a frosted ground.

Lovers hid themselves in midnight groves
telling stories ripe for contemplation;
of a Goddess and her beloved consort
who would erase death in perfect embraces.
Sounds were formed and cast like candle wax
to hold the warmth within each phrase
and keep it glowing through the night.
There was a lightness in each movement
yet intensity in every unrushed touch.

Man discovered gentleness, offering freely of his love.
Woman perfected laughter and taught the man to smile.
And with the mornings, a cornucopia of blessings
came spilling forth, to everyone in the tribe ....

So clear it was upon my return.
Why canÂ’t everyone remember?
Life it was I chose.
Yet If this were only dream,
is the charge not clear:
to make the departed symbol real
like the Phoenix rising!

PS: It is not to be construed that this post endorsees the use of drugs in any form for any reason. Events portrayed are strictly symbolic.