Transmigrations

How lonely it is when the voices stop, when the sword of silence cuts through the tumultuous frenzy of voices that once were.

Now, new voices must be permitted to live and thrive where once only cacophonous sounds ruled the mind’s inner domain.

Though laid to rest and given proper burial, there is no guarantee that an eternal sleep will quiet the ancient ones, for the silence brings with it new fears and torments.

If I am not careful, I will lose the battle and resurrect the demon mind which held me for so long In bondage.

Death appears to be the only answer, although I have died many times before, and with each corridor of the mind that gives up its ghost, the body crumples and folds awaiting its final rest.

In the anguished waiting the soul is seized by a light seen only by the inner eye.

The flame of hope that agitates and fuels ambivalent states of despair,

the old self dying, the new self fighting to make its existence known.

Voices from a distant past tell me to have faith in the seed brought forth from this light- whose nature it is to grow and flourish.

Birthed deep within the midnight soil, baked and bathed by sunlight and rain.

Nurtured by darkness and shadows that once engulfed its interior terrain.

Now enhances the quickening – and through labors toil is born a soul in regal attire.

This I know is who we truly are. Born not of sin but of majesty and this is where I begin again, having sloughed off many skins from many times past. Eons ago.

I somehow recall and remember it all that here in the present, in the eternal now, is where resurrection of the self takes place.

Where the soul, weary and forlorn, can cry out for nourishment be heard and filled.

Where knowledge and wisdom gained from pain and terrors of past hells and short glimpses of heaven, are seen not as external manifestations, grandiose delusions of the seer, but as mystical visions of one who has found the truth of paradise within.

For this, the legacy of madness which visited my youth has not been a shame.

The rape of innocence, the scourging of spirit, a dark night of the soul for which there seemed to be no beginning nor end, can be let go – can be surrendered.

And as water was once changed into wine so the soul transformed emerges-

out of the ashes of its former self.

Leaving behind a primitive world that once served it well, but no longer has a reason for being.