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Life Is But A Dream
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Scribbles on Life Pondering on the mysteries of life,
the constant stress and strife
that plagues life's daily rituals;
The path strewn sparingly with pearls
of fleeting happiness here and there,
pain and joy beyond compare,
with moments of calm before each storm,
winds of change taking on form;
Always searching for what I know not,
answers to unasked questions sought,
as a lock that can never be quite sprung,
lyrics on the tip of my tongue,
the echo of a haunting melody,
a treasure hunt for an elusive key,
often feeling frustrated futility,
as the rhyme or reason continues to escape me.
The window of a dream frosted with imagery
that dissolves at a touch before I can see,
an insistent whisper playing through my mind,
riddles with solutions I seek in vain to find,
the knowledge like treasure awaiting discovery,
a deeply buried memory in need of recovery.
What is the purpose of my existence?
What will be the reward for my persistence?
Why is it that I can't seem to break free
from this endless cycle of mortality?
If to dust I shall return, then let it be,
yet, why then do I still yearn to be me?
From deep inside a formulation starts,
a quiet voice within my heart,
a simple subtlety in the knowing,
a shimmering thread of insight glowing;
I believe that in this mysterious yearning,
life's quest is for the sole purpose of learning
to be all that I can be,
see all that I can see,
feel all that I can feel,
reveal what would be concealed,
know all that I can know,
absorbing all in spiritual growth;
To taste the fruit of countless trees,
a thriving forest of personalities
to tickle the palette, each morsel to savor,
memorizing each distinct flavor;
Feeling each ripple of emotion
flowing freely from the vast ocean
of gloriously imperfect humanity,
afloat in the ebb and flow of eternity.
To know rage, torment and hate,
to digest everything on life's plate,
at times flung to the depths of despair,
throes of passionate love to compare;
To be as a child reaching for a flame,
with innocent curiosity, to play life's game;
To have the courage to follow my dreams,
no matter how incongruous they may seem.
In life, wandering as though blind,
guided solely by what I may find,
as I grope and feel my way along,
hoping this road will lead to where I belong;
In darkness, to stumble but yet again stand,
to fellow travelers reaching out a hand,
as I, too, have had hands outstretched to me,
for there is strength in unity.
I have come to this most solemn conclusion,
after hours spent in perplexed confusion,
that life is for the living,
a lesson to learn in the giving,
the comfort extended by sharing,
the solace bestowed by caring;
The ties that bind unravel with each experience.
Someday will it all make sense?
If life is but a recurring dream,
then reality is much more than it seems.
Where does this journey end?
Where did I begin?
Will I then see?
When will I be
truly free
just to be me?
