Surrendering my Heart
Great Mystery calls my name
And the day came — roller-coasters no longer interested me — the ups and downs, neck-snapping. Jarring heads, bouncing off the backrest, brain splattered on the inner walls of cranial supplantation. Frozen in time, fear-ridden mongrel consuming thoughts inner-standings skewed by the past, present, or particular future glimpse of what may or may not be.
Do it! We double-dog dare you! Step into the Light!
Ok, just for a moment.
Here I am! Show me what you got! Calling Great Mysteries bluff, as if disbelief in any other possibility other than pain and suffering pigeon-toed position.
Walls trembling, lights flickering, soul-felt terror entering an ever-expanding vortex, whistling and vibrating with a heartbeat of creations first flutter. Holding onto whatever remains of this physical plain — hair-pulling experience nonetheless, far too late for that.
Trash recycling out with the old, accepting new story-lines, told by a Great Story Teller. Intently listening, forever glistening, an inner voice speaking truths and dropping bombs like O.G. back in the day — Unmistakable spoken words and vibratory thoughts, tales-telling of infinite potentiality.
Here I am! Fusing all things intertwining deductive reasoning, accepting shadows of doubt, light altering schemes of things, sitting at points pivotal play-on-words, yin and yang grasping straws no longer. Acknowledging the greatest lies in history — truths told by our dead, surrendered hearts burn hot like great fires in the belly, unexpressed painful grasp in not letting go.
The vibrational fusing of souls, self-realizing cosmic beings entering trance-like state for the human populace, showing up when called “to be,” doubtlessness enters the building. Atop the mountain-ways, amidst the villagers’ fire-circling chats, or just observing a band-goer awkwardly Skanking to the Beat, Story Teller explains-“feel the vibration, be the vibration.”
It is time!-life’s surrendering moment to Great Mysteries unspoken words and canvas-like parables or picture-book irreproachable. With stories to tell, songs to sing, painted Canvas stepping into more play-on-words, letting it all go, surrendering all of “It.”
No longer I or we, self or they, identified not by physical or spiritual beings withholding, “We just are,” no longer labeled goat or sheep, good or evil, whole and holy are we — together we march.
~Ani Po
Thank you J.D. Harms for this prompt, felt good to be back on the keys.
