My Universe Revolves Insight Hiding
My universe revolves
Relaxation – Meditation - Reflection
I have thought- in the throes of perception,
as I lay in the soothing arms of meditation –
travelling through spaces of, and in reflection
as I drift in and out, submerged in the waters of relaxation,
Mother Natures, life giving, crystal clear ooze of creation.
Maybe it is not, as I have – in my mind’s eye – seen.
Maybe it is not, as I have - in my heart – believed I have been.
For this day has brought to me, another view, a new scene.
One in which the above is more like a liquid tomb
where I lay myself – for hours – in the gloom
of my very dark, steaming room.
In this watery grave – a black hole cave -,
Where, in the darkness, I try and stave
off all that hunts, all that light, made
of the experiences - staid ?, -
flashing through my mind
before I silently slip into the blackness and find
that I have been locked into a past that
drowns the present – kills the future, in fact !
As the porcelain walls, embryonic fluid, grave become
the moist pages of this man’s history, the sum
of his biographical, autobiographical tale, none
will dry, as their essence continues, and drips
these experiences from my past, into the cup one sips
from – in the present – that stagnates the lips,
lips that speak not of colouring the water one spits
out to nourish life, nourish the future where lies
hope and dreams – that within me just dies
an inglorious, agonizing, frivolous death,
taking in one more, hopeful breath
before the end, before them and I are laid to rest
never knowing, if past or failed life’s test.
Is this a prelude to killing hopes and dreams ?.
of all I have done, of all I do, what never comes it seems.
Insight
With eyes, one sees, what it is that one perceives,
yet, does one truly perceive ?, that which he thinks he sees
as being a perception seen through another’s eyes,
and that it all might be nothing more than lies
perpetrated upon man to keep all in disguise,
– our heritage, life upon this planet – brought from the skies
Hopi, First Nations, just one of many peoples, spoke of the Sky People ?
Hiding
I see your constant, verbal rambling
as a means to avoid, a means of scrambling.
I believe them to be nothing more
than a skilled masonry protector
who is constantly building walls,
brick after brick, protecting yourself from any falls.
Falls from the past that are enfolded by the present.
You are the spade that digs, – that is meant
to ever widen, ever deepen that moat
that will keep out all that did smote -
to keep out the future, this chasm you built
to keep you safe, keep out possibilities, life to stilt.
B. J. “A ” 2
October 27th 2002
Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield | Year Posted 2014
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