The Returning
"The Returning"
Inside us all
a strange forest
where light and dark
are fed to us by
curious creatures,
their unexpected gods
in thoughts and deeds
joy and fear
hate and love
belief and disbelief
inwards
our dreams
turn to
The Returning
a place we think
we’ve never been
we drift inwards
facing ghosts
the demons
in our learning,
for nourishing
or easily burning
incinerating visions
that seem too real
our thoughts rule
over heart,
the logical and
illogical upstarts
when eyes
are open
to “It” all,
in the waking
moments of our
Life,
we become
philosophical
some,
say outright
with incredulous
indignation,
“get on with it”
"face facts”,
avoiding the persistent
message in their dreams
Myopia turns
its tight-lipped cheek
"my good woman",
or "my good man", it decrees
“you’re living in ...
another world”,
this much is true,
I think...
the flying monkeys
in their high chairs
further screech,
“dreams are not real -
they are
just stupid dreams”
yet,
if heart and mind
were to consort
as one,
as they must,
in that
ephemeral
realm
of contrivance -
one
and the same
they remain
cohorts merged
never
the two apart
joyfully lacking
competitive territorial licence
the devil's in those details
perhaps through dreams
we eventually
remember
The Returning
is from
the start
One
and the same
never apart
we would see
and understand
there prevails such
an odd place
where strange beings
only exist in its core
in light and love
a perpetual state of grace
there is
no rich, no poor
no hate, no crime
no restricting law
for there,
you see,
outside the dark,
Light is seen for what it is,
Lux Vitae
Love is the Law
we commune
in strange ways
the verses that we
sing and speak
perhaps we are
envelopes of madness
perhaps,
we think too much -
in
relentless
risky
poetry -
and fly to walls
to perch like
Southern Boobooks
that have lost their call
in flight, escapes
a silent voice,
echoing
mangled memories
considered
small in mind
unable and inadequate
to sing
upon awaking
from our
addled dreams
our thoughts
alone,
return
to The Returning
for in our thoughts
it is closer
than we care
to dream
there are answers
that our questions need,
so we lie down again
to sleep to dream
to unwrap
through our imagining
without blood and water
skin and bone
what is
the hidden creed
to be found elusive
in our dreams?
do we search for home
every dream we bleed,
or are we to convert
sensibly
the point of it all
the place
that always disappears
before it's reached?
shrouded, sitting in
the central seat,
commanding
all our dreams
the one
we wake,
before we meet
we are the dreamers
we sleep deep
in the dream
to dream
to meet
what is meant
to be met
in the presence
of those other beings
one among many
more real, than is real
that strange dimension
some consider fantasy
perhaps it's in this world
outside what isn't real
we live
in our dreams
our life is but a dream,
nightmares and dreams surreal
The Returning
calls us
ever forward
inward and perplexed
between
heart and thought
to what sits centre stage
priceless, unable to be bought
It
is real
extraordinary
outside all
what we've been
taught
the heart
provides
more than food for
thought
(LadyLabyrinth/2022)
lux vitae
“Memory Gospel” / Moby
https://youtu.be/uyjnkn-HkJc
"And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,
The solemn temples, the great globe itself,
Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve
And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,
Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep..."
Southern Boobook.
Copyright © Lady Labyrinth | Year Posted 2022
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