blank

i’m back here,
hand-on-my-shoulder-guiding,
i have no excuses.
this is the path.
it leads ’round and ’round,
back again,
heffalumps and woozles,
something i left behind.
a trinket,
cherished moments,
not so much attempting
to relive the past
so much as
glimpsing back
at what used to catch my eye
and cause that glimmer of excitement:

i would wake up in the middle of the night
compelled to move things –
– move my hand
rhythmically
writing
ignoring the world around me
for my muse
my shadow
my guardian angel
my, oh my, how we are one and the same.

coming back, embracing this
and seeing where the path goes,
i follow eyes closed
but not blind
seeing-feeling-believing with the third eye
collective
soulshine
time on our side
ever wise
deep river pulsing
blood rushes by
baby soothed by heartbeat sounds
hmmm, hmmm, hmmm.

On Tradition

Aus Gott wird man gebor'n, in Christo stirbet man. //////////////// Und in dem heil'gen Geist fängt man zu leben an.

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