For every one of us, living in this world means waiting for our end. Let whoever can win glory before death. Beowulf, Seamus Heany translation, 2000 Song of my soul So, An every one deluded by illusion and vengeance, stays in solitary singularity seducing my soul. It rings in my ears like blackbirds or cuckoos giving comfort this morning, that I may still wait for a something or anything..... a rehearsal, a play, performing forever the changes that dance in the stories of always with rituals and rivals disguised in delusion. And, there is an epic of endless proportion in the factory of turmoil muddling my mind, where I fashion farce about monsters and heroes, with a care and attention to the details of darkness where deceits of my doom dig daggers in my flesh. After my dreamtime I awake to a longing for everyone to know The essence of allthings. But, music entices the muse of the cosmos, luring me back to the whispers and wiles of her anthem to suffering, grasping and gaining mere ghouls of my heroes and phantoms of monsters. But, a star in the firmament of my nighttime manoeuvres extinguishes its light, so that I might see the downfall of hoping that I might win glory by shining too brightly. At the dawn of the twilight death will be coming, either creeping or running, with love alongside the piercing pain of this life. So, I shall return to the top of the world and see clearly the end of my travails and tricks. Im waiting well for my death today or tomorrow, sorrowful of soul but peaceful at heart. Let me not miss the bliss of the moment when we all voice a vow never to go back to lurking or listening to the dirge of samsara. When my everywhere wisdom is singing my song and my witness is waiting for my soon-to-be freedom, I shall run to the truth of my glorious nature dwelling deep in my heart at the heart of my mind. Elizabeth Burridge March 2014
Posted on: Mon, 18 Aug 2014 08:39:57 +0000
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