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Where The Vision Visits

Kentucky's late summer sunshine
sunk deep into their skin
as the boy rode on the back
of his Grandfather's coppered horse,
the tobacco harvest would begin soon,
aromas of sweet leaf darkness
were wafting in the field heat,
to the big barn they bounced
buoyant for the business of bushels
crafted by a lineage of fearless farmers
who knew the revolutions and roses of the land,
a stop at the pond for water and shade
would be wise, should be fine and fair,
Edgar lept off being swated in the face
by the horse's sweeping tail,
at the water's edge he could see secrets
loud in silence and wild in truth,
a shadow took form
at the horse's eyes
it reared violently, 
with a screaming panic it pounced
through the pond it charged across
with Grandfather desperately holding the reins
the breathing terror pumping
through the horse's body
was felt along it's spine by the old rider,
after madly striking the fence
it turned back to the shaken pond
with a furious stride upon the earth,
plunging in heavily
it's forelegs buckled badly
throwing Grandpa straight over into the broken water,
on his back, shocked to death under blue sky
the horse he raised from pony
hammered him with no mercy
into water pure,
standing there, deaf to death,
paralysed by slow motion murder,
the eyes and teeth of the horse
with it's mane electrified
and hooves lancing
is all he could see
while life stopped in the sun,
and then there was calm,
his Grandfather's hands 
slowly closed into that terrible water,
it would not be long before the boy
would see the spirit of Grandpa Tom
in the tobacco sheds, examining machinery,
scrutinizing the sheafs, singing the seed songs,
his spirit sight was not triggered by sudden tragedy, 
throughout childhood he conversed with the "playfolk"
the children of eternal outdoor youth
but as he grew they did not
and age seemed to seperate
the sense of their consanguinity,
it was time to live amongst the fellow flesh
to say goodbye to good ghosts,
the schoolhouse was a strain
on his simple soul,
his mind meandered into mazes
of biblical antiquity
daydreaming of divine deluge,
of wilderness wanderings
and sermons that serve the heart,
the Bible was the only book
that brooked the heartbeat to heaven,
by the time Edgar was thirteen
he had read the Scriptures twelve times,
possessed by the pedigree of passion
he pledged to read them for every year of his life,
the meaning of ministry pulsing in his purpose,
immersed in the verse of Monoah
by the clear water creek of contemplative quietude
the wings of a resplendent woman
swept Edgar's honest arid hair
as his fingers pressed the pages of prophecy
which lay upon his lap,
she simply glittered like glory
in the existence of true happiness
she was an angel of auspicious alms
come to ask the aim of his spirit
to which he replied shyly
to help the sick and searching
find healing and headway through Christ,
the angel woman declared with perfect joy
that his wish would be realized
as she went away with spellbinding evanescence,
that night his Father would berate him
for failing grammar lessons,
over and over
Edgar would sink into the questions
and his Father the "Squire"
would strike his apparent stupidity, 
the angel woman's voice
spoke within the boy's head
like violet against gray
suggesting that if he'd sleep a minute
with the lesson book under his head
the knowledge therein would be known,
when his Father woke him
Edgar knew the contents
as a clock knows the numbers,
the "Squire" was stunned
and a psychic gift had begun,
Edgar Cayce discovered a terrific talent,
an autohypnotic ability
that allowed him to read the body of the Universe
and everything in it,
he became a seer of stars,
in trance, his subconscious mind
could communicate with any other, anywhere,
the primary objective of his virtue
was to provide medical "Readings"
to those in earnest need of treatment, 
the medical expertise which he effortlessly espoused
surpassed the skill of the best professionals
in every conceivable field of medicine, 
physiology, diagnostics, pharmacology, psychology, 
physical therapy and so on,
eventually friends and clients
would implore him to explore
the metaphysics of Man,
to investigate ancient history
and the rivets of religion,
reincarnation would rise in import,
Mr. Cayce would report
karma is colorfully constant
that Earth is a special soul port,
to return to flesh is to return to rectifying flame,
he remained a Christian not just in name,
he found justice in Jesus and grace in goodwill,
after dying at 67 in 1945
this unrefined farmboy of a 9th grade education
left a legacy of 14,000 plus "Readings"
that have given healing and hope
to millions of human beings -

J.A.B.

This poem is dedicated to the life of "The Sleeping Prophet"
Edgar Cayce and his faithful wife Gertrude Evans Cayce.
I strongly recommend the biography,  "There Is A River, The Story Of Edgar Cayce"
Justin A. Bordner

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017




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Date: 5/23/2017 10:14:00 AM
This is such a spectacle of a narrative.. Cayce sounds like a fascinating, gifted man ..will have to put his biography on my list. I wonder what it was that had frightened the horse so terribly.. You described the scenes so colorfully:"paralysed by slow motion murder"..great line! "it was time to live amongst the fellow flesh to say goodbye to good ghosts"..you weave him in and out of the metaphysical world and into man's "reality" quite skillfully. <3 Always, Laura
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Justin Bordner
Date: 5/25/2017 3:13:00 AM
As is the case with many of us, Edgar struggled with his divine gift, sometimes it tormented him, other times it elevated him to sublimity Laura, I'm sure he related well to the prophet Jonah. He cared deeply about people. The spice of good poetry is always in the spectacle. You've been on my mind Poetess...J.A.B.