The softness is in the touch from silky waters. Is it flamboyant to rise above the sea? I often wondered what will become of the waters trapped within the very depths of my soul. Perhaps the is no concrete answer where humanity will end up in the arena so filled with aging mines. For the mimicry through such vessels only flails about endlessly in the rain. Let the rain wash over your soul. For there must be a release from clemency which has built up over the years with no merciful end. If only the tides of my being would not foreshadow my light.
From many days on end, the forlorn have sung through the spirits who go a gasped when running through fields of gold. For it is these fields of gold which withstands the test of times allegory. In truth, there is a resistance found inside even a hollow tree which stays there and refuses to tumble over. It’s dead, but it’s spirit is full of life in the land where the dead roam.
Their tidings bring forth jaded hearts infested with greed. For they only want the bark of which they grind up, and spread all over their face. It is a form of ritual for the hungered and the lost. Trapped inside a world of anguish and remittance, children wander endless, searching for liquid gold, hoping to absorbing the life giving spirit from which to draw strength.
An old wise man approaches them, and says, “Greetings, children. You now will embark on your delightful journey to find inner peace. The liquid gold you seek is not substance. For it is spirit. To find the able personage, you must walk down a course path until your reach the highest pinnacle of enlightenment,” and he wanders off, disappearing before their eyes.
The children walk further and further, continuing their search. However, all they find is more anguish while stepping on the hot, desert sands with their bare feet. They keep walking until they can no longer withstand the fires eating away at their flesh.
For to look inside the timber fold, we must ask ourselves, is this something we truly want? Do we truly believe in what we are doing? Are we passionate about it? Are we willing to take the risks no matter what the anguish we go through?
Throughout their journey, the followers of the golden light step inside a cave. Suddenly, blue waters emerge from the crevices of the cave floor. Four beings appear before them.
Reaching out to the children, they take them by their hands, and lead them into the pools of consciousness. There are remise their truths, and embark on a spiritual path towards their enlightened red rose. For it is the nectar of knowledge which shall feed them during the anguish of the night.
A whispering voice fills their ears with kindred realities. The realities encompassing what life actually is all about. The unfounded mysteries saturate the children’s minds as their eyes look upon the spiritual beings with an awe.
The mysteries we tread upon are only light sources. For every one of them leads us to question our own existential matters. If only the chalice we drink from could be sacrament for every palate thirsting for truth. In conjuncture, the chalice of the heart is the gift of inner peace. However, one must combine his heart with his mind, spirit, soul, and inner child to return to the person he was at the time of his birth. For it is there pure light resides. It is a combination of all elements found encumbered and weighed by measure regarding glowing embers in the earths crust. From there, I look to the sun. I follow it into existential matter of tides, and let it wash over me.
© Copyright, Kiki Stamatiou, 2016