In The Lost Night of Souls

Creatures of habit
curled up
night after night
never realizing
other ways are possible
and then one the possible ceases being
as we lock into postures
We get lost in slumber
as waking becomes a heresy,
unaware there is more.

There is an infinity of more.

We lock into movements that dictate
and suggest
the way forward
we cease questioning
but accept
saying
"this is the way its always been"
and so with a nod, its so
as the peasant cries "tradition!"
and we go on without examination
or thought of how it could be different.

Brittle.
Leave it to the trees and deadwood
so as the winds of change blow
these sticks and stems of our being
release and let go
of that which never served us.

Bending.
We discover the audacious truth
that there is something more awaiting us
we do not need to die
to experience heaven.
That state is ready for us
when we move the earth from us
and reveal the inner woman and man
like a vapor thin robe is removed
ready for the next chapter
as the Collective unfolds
within us.

Happy and content
I turn and roll in the lost night
of souls
as I find you
and take you into this great world of abandon
whose path cannot be found in this world
but whose course is certain,
knowable,
destined.

Each one of us,
dreaming
will bring the world awake
as water wears away the stone
as every drop can be felt
and deserts moved
continents ripped
with the gentle sway of time
and relentless pressure.
We shall dream this world awake
and in Waking
show the way to that Dreaming
once again.