The life of many faces; mine.
Every path,
is,
unique in view
even when all
trod the same dust.
We see, through
differently,
our lenses even out,
make level,the rock filled places
even when we travel blind.
We follow
the ones before us
lemmings
hoping for smoothness,
surprised
by
the smallness
of our hesitancy–pebbles
they stumble us
as easily as our doubts,
it seems.
I am held
above
my own thoughts
and await
as something burns away
illusions
during this quiet
moment
in time.
Here,
within this fragment of self-awarenesss,
I find a force,
a sea-rage ferocity
where my thoughts
become
disgorged
from the depths
of my most secret
interior,
stripping
away the covering shrouds,
the warp
and woof
of my being.
My being,
is,
in reality,
not mine,
not a cause
for which I remain
responsible.
It is within
these
frightening depths
these
immense moments where
// God //
with a breath-fight
opens
and plunders
my being until nothing
remains.
I am held
upon
continuous acts of meditation,
where the subjective
(and objective)
are removed,
breaking
all deceptions.
Here life
// dissolves //
within the discomforting
remainders
of uncertainty.
The weak light
flickers
its full-wick-length
it reveals feelings
dispersed
along
the broken
ground of other children,
other children
lost
out of order and
independently of others,
as feelings,
which float
along,
within,
the dark side of light.
These children bring
tears
in their eyes
running
out to the beckoning
sea hazel-green eyes,
with freckle cheeks,
singing ripples,
smooth stones skipping,
forever skipping.
Tie the drawing dawn
with its taunting,
howling, shouting;
the children
do not include what is meant
but what is seen, what is felt.
This life of many facespours
down over us
in blankets of isolation
insulating us
from feeling our truth.
Coverings
become
our realities,
masks
we peel off
when convenient
yet replaced
when gripped
by fear of being
exposed.
It is
the mirror soul
which confounds;
face of face within a face,
impartial and innocent,
hides the image
never shown;
a single,
silver, pear growing
silently within
our most secret garden.
// The Mirror-Soul //
conceals its unique origin
sweet dust of starlight’s
celestial breath;
a song
deeply planted
awaits
its many deaths,
its many resurrections.
~r.
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