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OUR SELF IN EVERYTHING
OUR SELF IN EVERYTHING
It seems as though everything conspires to keep us in the dark;
The space around us contains vapors that do not speak to us;
The trees and houses around us tell us nothing of what they are.
As grapes in later years we ripen to a particular vintage; in the
Time that it took we are not privy to all that we imbibed, neither
Did we have a colloquy with the sun or moon or the sky.
We know not of our origins; from whence we come or go;
The Lords of Time have given us a soma of forgetfulness
We largely remain unconscious in the tendrils of events.
In our inner and outer wilderness lies a primeval forest; an
Entire landscape from which we come and go without a
Reckoning without a resolution of why we have being.
And you, what do you know how you were lured from this
Primordial soup? From the nascent mist to igneous rock of
Mountains, the immemorial does not speak to finiteness.
But wait, something behind our eyes is trying to speak to us;
Something is moving behind this curtain of draped amnesia;
Something unfeverish and quiet unlike the angst of unknowing.
This dawning is a transformation without convulsions but
Nevertheless carries the power of all explosions and implosions;
It is the conversation we never had with our self in everything.
