As I lay in the corner
hunched over in tears
you stand before me in shadow,
we've not spoken in years.
"How are you, what's it like?" I implore,
met with comfortable Silence:
Enlightenment galore.
Though you have not recently
been in this realm,
you seem to be fine
and quite underwhelmed.
"There's nothing quite like it"
you reply with a grin
"It's almost like someone
got rid of Sin,"
"Why is it you wish
to know what it's like?
Perhaps you would like
to come on a hike?"
"No, I'm not quite ready
for that I'm afraid;
I've too much yet to do today,
there's much Art to be made."
"Ah yes, so I see
this seems to be true,
but who cares for such Art,
Art made by you?"
"I care not for how many care for it,
but I do care that anyone does at all.
I wish to immerse myself in all kinds of expression,
to preclude a sort of subconscious regression.
I care not for those who seek profit, like you,
but I would like to perchance become a Prophet anew;
though not of an -ism or even an -ology,
though perhaps for some secular abstract new-found old Spirituality.
One wherein all is but creative Godself
looking at itselves
in trillions of shattered mirrors
upon multidimensional shelves
and, odd though it may seem,
All is One through it,
yet as separate, All dreams."
"You, my Child, may be a gift unto Man.
Were I alive, I'd be your number one fan."
"You flatter me, Apparition,
but you were already my fan
far before my Path ever even began.
Still, I must ask, if indeed I can;
O familiar Ghost, tell me, what is thy plan?
"My plan, my Child, is to live on within you,
to continue your journey upon this thy subtle Path.
To set ablaze this boundless passion I sense within you.
To live in the shades of greys between the Black and White
To know that you are alive.
To know that you ever lived.
Your Mother and I both deeply love you
and though I have died, I live on within you."
And that was the last
conversation I had
with my dear old friend
that I had in my Dad.
T'was not in the land of the waking
this conversation was had,
t'was in a dream he spoke to me,
my ethereal Dad.
I seek neither pity nor compassion for Pain,
I seek only to try to explain
the infinitely vivid field of Experience
to which we're all subjected by some strange spirit valence:
*Thy Path, thine in Time.
You walk it for a reason,
even if obscured.
Time unfolds thy Path,
yet before Time was it set;
thine and thine alone:
Let no thing stray thee from thy Path.