Saturday, June 20, 2015

Sword Play

I am ... not as a child.  Have I ever been?  
Is the kingdom of heaven locked unto me, as I lack those innocent eyes with which to see?
  
As if I understood innocence.  
In this moment, absent all there was and all that might become, what IS?  
Nothing? 
Purity?  

A room, swept clear, reclaims its dust, debris.  That same space, shrouded in returned detritus, may be clarified anew -- and again, and again.

Might I not be renewed as well?  
Revirginated, as it were?  Spiritually, as in born again --
unbourn, unbearing.  
Unbearable.

An old soul, some say.  Which sounds, somehow, comforting.  Surely, what with all its sojourns, the well-traveled soul would be wise.  Experience, experience ... the teacher;  but what have we learned here?  You can't take it with you.

And yet, are you free?  
The tension in your core has something to say to you.  
That venerable knot, awaiting Gordius,
if only he were present.




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