The Harbour of Mystery

Stumble not, drunk on that ignorance-wine,

spewing what cannot be held.

Pause.

Breathe.

Lift the eyes-of-the-heart upward,

Oh this taken time.

The flood rises,

yet a shore-current waits longing

row toward it.

A harbor-of-clarity awaits you,

where light shines clean,

where no one sleeps in shadow of a dream,

but all gaze clear-eyed,

and the mind emptied it's voice speaks without tongue,

the heart beats but the vision sees without eye.

Strip away the soul-veil you wear

the corpse-of-sensation,

the chain-of-corruption,

the living-tomb.

It whispers us comfort,

yet strangles without knowing;

it loves falsely,

yet hates truly.

Tear it off,

and behold truth of this beauty,

beyond the mask-of-matter.

I say this to you wondering travelers,

Nothing dies.

Nothing perishes.

What men call death

is only form our moment change,

a turning back of what was,

a return to what is.

This Universe breathes immortality,

and we, its clay jar children,

share in the endless rhythms.

All Matter once was unknown chaos

now the sphere form,

now this order dances in and around,

now the rhythm-of-increase-and-decrease sings.

What we call death

is only sense-fading,

a wheel-turning,

a passage.

Sense and thought twines within us,

inseparable yet apart,

dream-bound, waking born.

But higher still is mind of the fire

receiving seeds.

Some fall from shadow,

sprouting deeds-of-malice.

Others fall from the Mystery,

sprouting virtues roots,

self control,

truth and the endless devotion.

Knowledge comes slow to those who seek,

The knower is mocked,

hated,

sometimes broken

yet they alone turn evil good,

as the life gardener

turns waste-soil into growth,

watering with careful hand.

This Universe itself has thought and breath,

a single current flows:

to create, dissolve, renew.

All lives are planted,

harvested,

re-sown,

without end.

The Mystery is not apart from these things.

It does not “possess” them.

It is them.

All things in the Mystery,

all things of the Mystery,

all things returning as a Mystery.

To see this is to believe.

To believe is to understand.

And to understand

is to rest in light of being

known.