I arrived at the eternal shores between illusion
& reality, between light and the dark side of light,
between magic and bondage. It so easy to teach
and determine the realms of ghosts, of the night
and of spirit, when we ourselves have not touched
any depth of our own ghosts that travel the
eternal shores of our own soul.
Fate offer something greater and that is why
most people do not believe in it. Here our sight
becomes blurred and what was once familiar
becomes a place of weakness where we no
longer walk, but must learn to crawl. This is
what prayer was invented for.
My wanderings always guaranteed shadows,
and if I missed even one doorway, then I would
have never been close enough to the source to
experience any mystery. Never confuse great
difficulty and burden with wrath, for fate is wrath’s
unfolding of a life where you no longer have any
choices in the matters of your burdens.
Near the end of any cycle, there is a new beginning,
another chance to search for your soul. She has always lived
in our choices, in our suicides, in our regret when we are old
and she only pays us a visit when we are most vulnerable,
or deathly sick or abandoned and have no refuge in our misery.
For those who do believe in their soul take note that the faces
and the voices when we say “yes”, to the ones who call out
to you with no physical body. Always say “no” to spirit or the dead,
and that is when the difficulty begins and not a day before.
Say no, long enough to recognize exactly who the shadow light
is and why they are here. Do not glorify the light or the dark,
just to get a taste of spirit, for each of them are a mirror –
fact of you. Spiritual people are always willingly to hold out their
wrists to be handcuffed to the dead, to spirit or paranormal,
the creatures and even ancestors that they do not know.
As shadows try to convince you they are light or your ancestor
or the divine. Its easy to know spirit, the dead, when
you have never even met your own soul.
…. this is the meaning of being in-between
illusion and reality and the nightly whispers
of your own soul’s winter.
Source: Poem by Phoenix
of Elder Mountain, Image of
Sibenik Krka & Skradin, Croatia.