Poetic prose fusing of prompts
Into the Valley of Death we Return
knowingly returning to our darkest moments
A thousand journey steps — leading to this moment in time — surrounded by vertices of voices echoing pain and suffering — handed down from generation to generation — historical fact or fiction left for interpretation of the self-realized.
Like the breath of decay lurking the backside of a barn — doors opening to new beginnings thought processes the same. More painful is the stay — extending like motel six, leaving a light on for the seeker — of something greater than taught run-up to current second splitting time.
Into the Valley of death, shadow-filled misery — very few traveling this barren desert, filled with past and present participles of self-loathing befriending death — knocking at awakening’s door. Sacred, afraid, and often alone — in our suffering, we must go, not for them but self alone.
Regret, not for the words spoken, but those not — sharing in silence as the others bash the brains of innocence. Attached not to the words spoken or inarticulate verbiage — leaving carnage of another sort behind.
Once freely spoken — like a virus or dysentery’s rim, hushed by wisdom’s voice — silently whispering into the auditory canal’s vibratory resonating sounds. Hard to swallow or no longer interested in feasting on the beast — seducing lips of another’s accord, we enter a vow of silence.
Traversing Valley’s judgmental song — carried by forefathers sharpened tongues on whetstone’s blackened heart — returning to the center of all universal thoughts — of the creating motivational irony of sacred canticle — we arrive at a home where we hang our hats.
Present be — holding sacred space for self — guarding 24-carat fields of self-building, self-realizing we are as perfect as the morning sun. This is our time of magic — creative forces echoing quill’s response to collective chaotic voice — filled with an inner knowing — life is meant to be at ease.
Enter we must — knowingly climbing into the pit of despair — keeping sacred fires lit for pilgrims seeking the warmth of another night’s shadowy moons. We return into the Valley, judging not of the wandering souls — coming hitherto free more burdening chains of bondage — tied to the machine of self-destruction.
Magic remains forever and a day — binding us to universal forces — creating a Utopian Canvas seen as fairy tales and make-believe. What used to be a questioning of self — doubting Thomas’ words of old, now an unfolding knowing of no regrets for the steps kissing mother earth.
~ Ani Po
Doing shadow work and self-discovering of truths, we come to a place of knowing. Not knowing everything, but what we know is all we need to know. Not having to know everything, but remaining steadfast in our quest at holding sacred space for the next to find their way home.
Thank you J.D. Harms for this weeks prompts, fusing the words together in hopes of sending the message clear. It is our choice to knowingly enter our own valley of death, unearthing the pain and suffering of old. Similarly, it is a choice to remain secluded in our knowing or leaving an open door for the next to enter through.
Knowingly returning to the valley of death, we hold our sacred tune to that of creative winds and mysterious projections of days unfolding song. Dancing with inspiration, fusing two as one, here are the original prompts:
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