The Arrival of Autumns Early Morning Light
Seasons come and they go, passing thoughts through the thinnest of veil
Deep within our slumber, cock* striking three
the veil is lifted, and residual thought sent out — yesterday’s trash
wreaking havoc on inner-dimensional — bridging of hemispherical
ideations giving way to promises of a new day.
Daily routine — twisted mind and rooted feet
heartfelt song — carrying tunes of yesterday’s
healing –song of pain and delight
integrating past, present and future tense as the third person singular.
Stretched out on the morning’s floor — cat-like poses
bone-breaking news of internal struggles
yielding tomorrows understanding — greater good
comes not with a knocking of once at heaven’s door, but thrice calling of the soul.
It is time — moving to the sound of those before
carrying a balance between good and evil
perceived as such — understanding very little
of this world — tangled and jaded — staying true to self from this day forward.
~ Ani Po
Autumn arrives in early morning, but spring at the close of a winter day.~Elizabeth Bowen
Seasons come and go — just as the last becomes the first. With each new day promising a new beginning — every cold of winter days the fresh smell of spring. Sit in the autumn of our days — reaching for new promised growth and the budding of brighter spring.
This is my personal routine of waking at the wee hours of morning light. Beginning with confusion and dismay, not wanting to climb from the comforts of nightly healing of yesterday.
It is said, the veil to spiritual realms thinnest at this time, witching hour or the hour of the demons. Maybe it is just the time it takes to dump off our innermost thoughts in the deepest hours of slumber, waking to new thought entangled by yesterdays seduction of possibilities. An opportunity for letting go and beginning again.
*rooster. Yes this was intended. I am adding this note, as I have received dozens of feedback, stating “spell check.”
Thank you J.D. Harms for this morning prompt and thank you Illuminations for housing these words.
Do we see reality as it is? Or thought intertwined with a perceptual translation of how we see things? Jean Carfantan delves into this idea of a Universal Opera.
