Ship of Self was docked and tied to reason's wharf,
where time could strip what had been used and lost,
to then take brush, and summon painter, Soul;
fate's palette waiting, colour bright, at any cost.
So did mind rock, and hope still float, in steady move,
the little boat of possibility would toss beside,
and bricked in dreams, hallucinations held;
like soda fizzing, meaning frothed, and could not hide.
Spirit held one finger in the air, did crook and beckon,
calling to the edifice that dies, to kill all ego,
drown it in the waterways of suffering and pain;
that trust might surface, truth can then bestow.
Weaving like an otter through the liquid, hidden realms,
was sanity, foregrounding that which comes to be,
and in the vision that the angels wrote so long ago;
the art of Soul is made - materially set free.
In coil of singing spiral is the song of Self revealed,
with ropes etheric holding through the years,
and in the roil of living, dissecting of it all;
so are we made eternal, released from all our fears.
That murky place of being where sense is never seen,
is lit within, shines sparkling as God's breath,
as Circe, wanton, wilful does wallow in disgrace;
curve does hold us close, as Goddess ancient breast.
To sail upon the oceans of the universe we know,
remember that the spirit must return to distant lands,
and take, as did Ulysses, the memories then made;
so are we brought to being, become as always planned.
Barbara: docked, strip, used
Rick: brush, painter, palette
Misky: float, bricked, boat
Stimmyabby: hallucinations, crook, soda
Don: kill, edifice, dies
Jules: waterways, surface, otter
Irene: vision, art, foregrounding
Hannah: coil, spirals, ropes
Roslyn: roil, dissecting, truth
Sabra: murky, sparkling, curve
Bastet: Circe, wanton, wallow