Footsteps in the Dark

 

The House On The Hill

 

Prepare the Harbors

 

Sympathetic Resonance

Consciousness—the Ephemeral Noise

preventing us from hearing the eternal music—

waking us from the Dream on a daily basis—

while the dream, 

regardless of our observation or awareness of it—

continues uninterrupted into latent infinity. 

Meanwhile, the great race continues to accelerate—

faster than anyone can even begin to comprehend, 

let alone accept—

at a dangerously progressive rate—

killing more than any recognized war—but ironically,

no one has any time to stop and prove it.

As chronic repression prevents the masses of individuals 

from attaining any presence whatsoever—

Instead, training to Stay Awake, in their Proper Place,

within their Hours—reciprocally increasing to appease

the disillusioned illusion right back to sleep...

The majority are generally oblivious 

to the tricks being played—and distracted by the Game, 

regress back to their little impression on their dime of time

as soon as curiosity starts feeling like doubt—

comfortably preventing accidental transcendence

into a dark unknown realm of existence. 

Reactionary reasoning gains strength and popularity

as linear thinking completely overtakes orbital soliloquy 

for the sake of safe, effective, and accepted

forms and norms of communication.

All the while hiding behind an unapproachable scowl,

crouching over a drink in a dark corner of an ancient dive, 

sits some anonymous old soul,

a wretched wreck of a human, who knows, 

that to sink into unconsciousness intentionally,

is to rise into an awareness of the Infinite Sea of Being—

its subsequent Meaning then granting one the ability

to fill any human void, to mend any human wound

with cosmic confidence, completely, and efficiently...

Meanwhile, an old upright piano sits outside a junkstore

in the bright sun on a crooked sidewalk. 

It's rolled outside every morning 

to make room for the treasure-seekers and bargain hunters...

The business owners pay the rent and their taxes on time,

hoping to once and for all be free of the old piano's Burden 

every single evening they have to roll it back inside—

The Homogenized Noise

Of Public Place—

Amplifies Silence

Of Private Space—

Promoting Extraction

Of Cosmic Musing—

And Distillation

Into Poetry—

Cosmic Dancer

On Her Toes—

But is the World Ready

For the Moves

She's about to Make?—

The Jagged Lines

Of this Reality

Stand no Chance

Against Fluidity—

Confront

As Above, not always—

  So Below—

To the Light, not always

  The Way to Go—

And in the Depths

  Are Great Unknowns—

And the Wind

  Will Tear your Sails—

The Sun itself

  Will Burn your Skin—

The Map's been Lost,

  So Let's Begin—

Build the Vessel

  Light and Strong—

And Ride each Wave,

  To its Nether End—