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"Peace in the Nowhere" Ghosts remain in this place they read their words marked each day on walls like prayers, it gives them peace in the nowhere someplace relevant to go Ghosts commune in this place disowned long ago or walked off the edge home, they scry in pooled reflections drinking in lost intelligence through open minds that are closed to the other world though they think not feel they're open, still, back to the wall, they remain fast, challenging poetry and clerics all, they have lifetimes yet to go, they are told they will be returned, it is their choice when, they sense they have been here before they don’t speak a word they play words like cards across a table, shuffling decks eyeing the invisible in each other up and down they see nothing remarkable they look for alphabet points in the soup of it all, the questions they possess innumerable, the table laid bare, the planchette was lost lifetimes ago when the portal closed; for all that, the cutting cilices they wear under monkish habits they disrobe back to naked self, like Pythia, oracle veils are lifted daily like some opium penance, in the vast Temples of Apollo they seem content here, holding space within their frameless bodies of work a sacred flame remains holding some innocence they are like long lost virgins standing firm guarding the purity of their subordinate vestal temples invisible, but you feel them, they seem invincible they come and go, some remnant ancient rose essence of them each breathes in the other the slightly touched touch you, you understand their nebulous echoes not heard, yet felt against you, some strange vibration in the slowness wades through alms collecting empathy worn like shroud or sunny halo of who they were in a life, once long ago, imprints upon you those haunting drafts of lacy memories ectoplasmic fabrics of who they still think they are, they hold tight to their denying dying ego, that puncture your phantom beating heart like pine needles piercing a black balloon as the quintessence of them brushes past your eyes, your unseen face, your retreating id deflates, the sound of it sucked up in solemn gravity where do they live in the nowhere? the unseen, wanting and not wanting to be seen - they remain attached to you walking beside you hand on unseen shoulders all knowing in the foggy mist, they feel like the silent hidden spiderwebs of imprisoned bad dreams speaking what you want to hear whispering, what you fear, just wooden pieces on a chess board of some demented, misunderstood poor poetic losing deity the belying hounds like baskerville no longer bark, the flying monkeys drop like dead flies, but the rain oh the rain still falls like tears under the gloaming gaslit diadems in sheltered corners somewhere inside you woodsmoke ascends, you understand, in the nether, somewhere fires are still lit there along each path chanting bees like strange priests pollinate a forest's trees and leaves regenerating better stories like the myth of dragonflies the moonlight is reliable, it never ceases to shine it all around over peculiar creatures, the bodiless minds of the unseen it imprints upon each walking the forest of Egregore, long Night's dark significance, its boundaries, like a circle, in one motion, you are captured captivated within the line drawn the moonlit forest, never ceases to hear your dark night cry as you bend and kneel before others' footprints silently marching towards you across snow on frozen ground the Winter stories of your life swiftly surround approaching hungrily moving towards you, 'tis The Collection, you remonstrate for a little while then away, you are flown listening to angels cry, sweet painfelt chimes, both sad and joyfully intoned mark each your chapters deeply self-owned undecipherable at first, but clearly shown you begin to understand the mysteries of the unknown, they are etched into the way you sink then rise, then indepently let go the higher levels you fly, you now flow below, you watch those footprints forever disappear back into their future stories back into their own new soul hung prayers breathing back in the breadth of their immeasurable karma tragic immortality on repeat for those who choose to remain in this place in the waiting time, they are daily renewed, where there is no day the merging of time is delayed why would they ever want to leave the Bardo, why would they want to ever walk away they are embalmed in suspended knowledge, wisdom growing wild like clinging ivy climbing over those shambalic relics like repunzel crumbling towers wrapping their souls around each other like Christmas candles communing silent night wraith like tentacles holding around all undiscovered discovered in mortal evanescence known as the lost why unknow the puzzle of it all shuffling the truth of lies in lives the lies in the truth of a little passing death the betrayals like a serpent swallowing its own tail Ouroboros what is clarified and shown as human dross it masters the dark art through light devouring itself to be reborn in self in this place, the peace of nowhere, the unity of all things is expressed material and spiritual, which never disappear but perpetually change to form in an eternal cycle expressing the unity of all things, destruction and re-creation, like poetry in the heart of those that matter, dark and light Ghosts remain in this place where reflection ripples across the mirrored lakes of others shown walking across icy paths like glass the cracks show, you can’t avoid the seeing of it the meanings undecipherable the images dissolve in the flow it’s an intentional turning away disassociating, letting go the words like surrender flags waived Ghosts remain in this place they read their words like prayers, it gives them peace in the nowhere where there is nowhere else to go (LadyLabyrinth / 2023)
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