instant by instant
the past recedes farther back
into the psyche of the World
it's useless to say anything
as words are deconstructed
back into their original utterances
groans and grunts and exhaled gibberish
and the mind trained
in its symbolisms follows suit
all constructs as we've known them
collapsing into a junk and bone yard heap
the champions of progress hail
this evolution as spiritual growth
humanity stumbling out of 10,000 years
of servitude to abstraction
while the conquered remnant
mourn all they've loved on their own terms
in their own understanding
and project their perpetual loss as universal doom
and in among these perpetual dichotomies
the frail thread of human limit
each past eon a forgotten tomb
with each future the end of a long chain of process
but when hundreds of years hence
the unchanging human nature reasserts itself
what will all this new thinking be
but the passing abstractions of that stage of organic time?
the old will always cling to what is already gone
in the instant of its apprehension
while the new will exalt itself as an ultimate in freedom
that has never been known before
I mourn the past but let it go
but I dread the future for all I see
are the old tyrannies in new dress
yet another band-aid on some wound of growth
imposed and impressed from the outside
rather than healed from the inside
and the evolution we all fearfully or delightfully praise
will continue underneath all this soul progress
eons after eons until some cumulative point
some 'Omega' point is reached
then will the divisions begin to merge and close
and then you will either be or not
until that endgame to end all games
this move on the face of ever vanishing history
that will swirl like a slick upon
the Eternal Now that always is
until that awakening let us take the stillness
that is our spiritual essence
let us allow these pains of night to fade into
the silent song the Morning Stars sang
when we are back to the beginning...
Content (c) 2008-2011 Philip Milito.
No comments:
Post a Comment