Wednesday, August 13, 2014


There is in the returning to the place imagined,
barely remembered because so long left behind,
and yet, tapping at the chilled panes of mind;
so does home keep calling as always destined.

Drawn into this universe from that island of being,
pulled into this world through days and years
and months, through joy and countless fears;
so are we driven on to greater, deeper seeing.

Life is birthed in an instant of imagination,
growing steadily and taking purer form,
as soul remembers why it has been born;
and self does study maps to final destination.

Until the turning takes us back to where we started,
and once again we see horizons of our home,
and then the hours behind are fully, surely gone;
death removes illusion, ensures the curtains parted.


  1. ah a home indeed...outside our present world...
    i look forward to that comfort when we return there, one day

    fresh take on home ros

  2. How elegantly profound this reads!

  3. home is within... what we have special connections with and bring peace... your take is very otherworldly, I like it a lot

  4. our brief visit of this world.. yes it's a comfort to believe in a home to return to...

  5. Bardo, the Buddhists call it, that place that we overlap dimensionally, just the other side of the veil, like a secret garden in all our lives/incarnations; we seem to be old souls, you & I, with half a pocketful of wisdom, or Truth; but yes, death is a doorway, just another transition; very deep, profound, these 4 striking stanzas of yours.