A Psychic Manual
Time is a coverlet
of secrets not to be withheld,
but dressed for the revealing,
just as humankind sits down
among the gods partaking
of the succulence of truth,
and no priority may interfere
with that vainglory of the feast.
See, it has begun
with whispers in the air,
alerting us that it is there
surrounding thought
like friendly shadows frolicing,
calling out to passersby
that there is always more within.
It is the hour
when judgement slips away...
the inner ear entices
in a strange romance,
and everyday is set aside
to clear the way
for new dimension, moving in.
You may attune your mystic sight
as flesh retreats;
the field is vast enough
for you to play, embrace its green
and celebrate the day
of your awakening.
The fresh halloos reverberate
across the miracle
of this new consciousness,
our hidden friend for many years,
our self emerging from the sleep
of alien domain, an infancy
to suck upon a proffered breast
quite unaware it only pacifies.
Halloo! There IS a crystal universe.
There is a holy light upon the sky.
There is a company of messengers
that we in blinded days
ourselves considered aliens.
We called them angels, yes, but they
were winged of mere intent, unseen
yet with the song of bounding
and rebounding love alone
and only now, yet evermore to be.
~
Copyright © Robert Ludden | Year Posted 2012
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