In the celestial port of the Soul at the crossroads
between Life and Death - or is this just a dream? -
she waits content as a Sadhu for the good ship Immamou
which rides the mystical winds beyond
the outer limits of mortal ken, over the edge of the ‘Verse,
bound for the Underworld; translating all souls
who transcend the crossroads into Pure Mystery…
As she contemplates her imminent ride,
ticket touts pitch her cruises at cut-throat prices;
regaling her with seductive tales of exotic pleasures,
and treasures to be plucked at her leisure
on the high seas of the ‘Verse; but her heart is as immovable
as the great sky by passing clouds, or a hungry lion
by the pleading of a doe-eyed gazelle.
So they flip the script, and let her know she’s in immense danger:
“Better come with us girl, you need to evacuate immediately!
Don't you know there's pirates out here roaming the 'Verse,
looking for suckers to rob and murder! Curse their black hearts
all you want, they'll just laugh then stuff you in a hearse!
A sacrifice to their evil pantheon who jealous of humans,
revel in your misery! ‘But why?’ you ask.
Cuz you're blessed with short mortal lives
which pushes the wise to live each day like it's their last,
imbuing all experiences with blissful intensity
like lovers fated to part forever come dawn.
So whatchoo say, hon? Seize the day and have fun?”
The best cons contain a kernel of truth,
but would you trade true love for a pot of gold,
or happy freedom for false security?
Immamou has anchored itself to her heart
with a silent song through a
multi-fluicity of indefinicies leaving I and I utterly loneless;
a song of lightning on dark nights of the soul
striking brave hearts who weather forlorn storms
to burn down those low down dirty blues.
The Ancestors live in that silent song of love
an immortal chorus extending beyond the horizon,
reminding her we're all links in an un-
-broken chain; empowering us to be the calm centre
of the inevitable tempests we must face
as we sail upon life's mysterious waters;
birthed by the Unfathomable,
berthed in Sovereignty,
bound for the Unknown…
To all with the immanent desire for humankind's healing –
who dream of a world filled with joyful beings
living in harmony (rather than sleep-walking through a half-life:
zombies too brain-dead to think for ourselves,
and too heart-dead to do what makes us happy),
may we have the patience of pregnant mothers
as we wait at the Crossroads of the Soul.