through the fire five six seven senses of his cross…said the poet

Dèjávu. I have it so often these days, a fleeting moment when something between the passing of the seconds that make up a minute stops, and I’m disconnected from where I am and connect to an almost stationary, a fleetingly static nanosecond of a space and a time past. I recognize it as the imagery of a previous dream, as it fleetingly passes through my mind’s eye, but so swift and so adroit in its reminding me that I fail to remember when it was this dream came to me.

It makes me shudder to the bone with trepidation and while anchoring me also at the same time to the knowledge of the path, -the path upon which I was and which brought me to this path upon which I am, -as the path laid for me, a long, long time ago.

I must hold the sorrows and the sadness of the journey thus far because failing to contain this deep sadness about the journey and the consciousness of what it cost, the price we’ve had to pay, is a sucking sore that simply cannot be dissolved into an un-aching nothingness.

so in my bosom I must hold the pain of knowing and know the virtue and value of containing within the sadness and the sorrow and keep on looking and moving upwards and onwards towards where infinities overlap and our minds can realize the value of our being and the burden of our sorrows which for balance and harmony must be matched by equal amounts of happiness and bliss. it can only be; for Nature in all her mysterious ways knows far more of our form than we imagine ourselves to be from the corner of our finite minds while we’re in the skin and bone of ourselves in this world.


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