Falling In
The rising sun comes to chase the away the dreams of the night. A light born of the fire of truth, forever burning away the unreal. Darkness is this day pealed away by the dawning heat that warms the face of the lucid watcher, humbly receptive to the majesty of its blessings. For now the night has gone and given its treasures back to the sea, and yet she is still calling me, calling to take me into her depths, calling for me to dive beneath the waves and dream in the shade of night again. What this light reveals the eyes will see behind, for the witness has seen a vision not her own and turns away from what she mistook as true. A temptation to contrast the pure, a deception to coat rusted metal disks with gold, a delirium to defy the sublime, and again the sun rises only for a time…only for a time.
Every call is answered, for every call is heard, the songs of delight, the bellows of pain, indiscriminate among the poignant, the mundane, the absurd and the sane. And so I go beneath the sea in to the darkness and the labyrinths of her primordial caves. A seeker, a hero and a fool, falling gracefully into oblivion, a servant, a master and a lowly slave, seeking your birth from within my watery grave. A martyr, a healer, a tyrant and a sage, burning in the passion of a golden age. Toiling restlessly beside you in this copper cage where the forge of Hephaestus builds his weapons of war, defiling the pure ever more.
I am the Kin of the addict, of the whore, of the sick and the insane, of the saints, of the prophets, of the priests and of the profane. Not one do I Love more than the next, not one need pay homage to a golden cow or profess before Angels a solemn vow. There is no magic to cure the blind, there are no treasures that do not bind the soul to a meaningless death. In its embroidered liquid a leviathan swims and swallows what you seek to find, ruthlessly confounding the dreams clinging to the mind.
In this falling, this swallowing there is no pain, no pleasure, no power and no merit. There is no glory nor vanity, nor riches to inherit. I am here for a will not my own. I am but a stranger and a messenger with no fortune and no home, wandering a foreign land until I find you. and when I do, you will not know me and wish to banish me from your sight, casting me aside and cursing my name, but your praises and curses are each the same, one to exalt the meaningless and other praising the profane. But when we enter in, on the morning of the seventh day, you will see me as I am and glory will be given to the most high and together we will receive in eternity, what even now draws nigh.
~Asa
Tags: spiritual poetry
