FIVE BULLETS OUT
Where I live in my mind I am not yet home.
The sequestered fore-waters yet harbor native
folk, and they are still living in the trees - in them,
I mean literally, not on them. Gods of huge oaks,
hollowed out trunks lodged in bark and timber to
deep chambers below, sit serenely within their
magical chambers : changing and forming worlds,
realigning everything which already is, altering
futures without our knowing. We are eternal,
even amidst these truncated bouts of time.
-
I'd like nothing better than to show you, take you,
let you see my world. Come within with me. I can
introduce you to this flock : wizards, angels, demons,
charlatans, voices and spirits, whatever. Here is, in
fact, still the root of all natural religions. All those
forces are still in place.
-
I am not yet at home, as I said, in this
world - still silently learning as I watch.
Noting what to observe as I observe
what to note. I am fed from a source
outside of me, yet within as well, which
fills me with the goodness and light, or
the equivalents of, by which I steer
through all of this world. As much
imagined, I now know, as real.
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