Seeker Magazine

AVANT SOUL

Rhapsodies in Words

to reawaken our fascination with the ever-original SOUL

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And Your Life Will Open Like a Flower


for Dalya Miri


We take this place for granted
And think that it's forever. In reality,
It is a flickering of lights before a finer camera . . . . . . . . . . .
Than you have ever known,
Which connects you to this universe
And was spun and woven, long before your face was forged anew.

Look in the mirror, look at this face
     which you've taken for granted,
Either in oversight or under-appreciation
Or, in constant's heady grip and vise
Is a face which you cannot completely visualize.
 
How can you see your majesty
If your eyes are covered with roots?
Like racial memories, like vines,
Roots of all that have ever lived before entwine
Your perception, tangle and frame your identity, then wrap
Around your eyes like some tangled placenta of the human family.
 
Before atoms began courting their lace-like bits and particles,
Before time began multiplying, before there was measure,
Before value was placed upon passage and coin,
Before that which forms every valley and garden of your character existed,
Before you were born and were merely being reformed,
There was an accounting beyond your most enlightened bean-counters.
How easy to overlook the magisterium of yourself,
     Being that you're recycled from time itself
          Being that you're spun from the same carbon as coal
               Being that your eyes are merely diamonds
                     Embedded with the multifaceted refraction of your soul.

If you're reaching out to the fecundity of Creation,
Picture this: God fertilized time and space with pollen.
This was an awakening far more unapproachable
Than your furthest imagination could ever ponder.
Hello there. Are you peering past petals of the wild blue yonder?

                                                   Should you be seeking to grasp
                                              The majesty of creation,
                                        You needn't picnic far beyond this foyer,
                                      Where your hallway of attention resides.
                                 Its limbs and hinges are revolving
                            Around this axis of being,
                        Presenting a hand, a knob, and an opening . . .
                My, how you've grown
!

            There you are, before that ever-present doorway,
     Adorned & wearing the home of consciousness.

                           Here you are, involving with the rest of Humanity.
                           At your best, present & accountable, engaged
To the crystallization of these bodies like some human turtle. Race?
 
                                                   And are you not sublime,
To think that this shell which carries you, regardless of your treatment,
      could be sustained,
For it is lumbering in a disco labyrinth,
And these laser lights surely are capturing
The flickering shadows of your actions,
Not the essence itself.
                                                   The house lights have dimmed.
                                                   The cast awaits your entrance
          Upon the stage. How fast can you spin, how long can you last
          In these dwellings, entranced and enraptured? Begin again
.

Welcome to God's Disco . . . . distilled experience is on the house.



You need not gaze far beyond
The limber repose of your delicious attention's
Keyhole and hinge, turning, spinning,
Yearning upon the byways you have beguiled.   
How lovely you are. How lovely you are. How lovely you are.
And yet you are not these images.
You are not these projections.
You are not these moments, these passages
Which you speak, where you enter, and through which you die.

These timeless passages are filled with the shoulders of corpses
One whose cowardice and courage you stand, facing the dance of twilight
Like a new-born fool. They had no choice = and neither do you.
Even if you had not asked to be born, would you take it back?

Would you like to file your complaints now = or later?
The Angel of Judgment is recording your complaints.
Will you first start with some of your incomplete actions?
Are you not oblivious? To put off

That inevitably bright and blazing morning
As you soar to a place, astonished, leaving behind

          All that you now see . . .
Is precious is fragile is rare is destructible
Shall not last -- cannot last -- and must perish?
 
              Go now . . .

It is far more that these days
Are calling a truer name for yourself
Than you have dared utter
From the finest moments of your lingering lips ...
 
It is far more than your realization that this cannot last,
Far more than a mere awakening to the endless now and now -- and now --

And now it is this:

     To simply act

            As you have never acted before

                  To breathe as you have never before breathed

                        To appreciate ecstasy

                              As you never dared yourself to perceive -
 
And there, in the fragile petals
      of your indestructible soul

          You shall never again take for granted
                your beauty ...

                    And your life will open like a flower.

                             and your life will open like a flower.

                                     and your life will open like a flower.


(Copyright 2002 by Darius Gottlieb, - No reproduction without express permission from the author)

You're invited to visit Darius' website for more of his photographs and his music at Art Bliss


Letter to the Author at SoulGnosis@aol.com
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