The fire was stolen

Wonder by Alex Grey

The fire was stolen
from the gods.
In its embers I saw a glowing universe.
Form and emptiness. Matter and spirit.
The eyes of the soul.

I sat on top of the world
Beneath the light of the full moon,
its light spreading.

In the silence, before the open temple
I found myself, the form of many truths,
the twinkle of my own star.

I penetrated the world I know viscerally.
From cell to cosmos.
Finding boundaries.
Overcoming thresholds.

Spirals of rainbows unfurled
inward and out.
From man to temple,
into the surrounding effigies.

A world unspoken
that lies between layers
of ethereal realities.

I sang my song in the stillness,
saw energy move in ancient gestures.

At sunrise I found laughter
resonating in my belly.

The echo of creation,
and the universe’s wink.
Sleep a long forgotten sister.

I plodded the sand, the whiteout,
the open loudness
in search of peace.

I stared my discomfort
and fear in the face.
Every time I closed my eyes
visions fought to hold on
to my tired mind.
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Sacred Fire

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burning bright
cleanses my soul
through the night.

Aspiring high the flames
tear, licking the sky
in formless wear.

Millions of tongues,
in unspoken languages,
consecrate
the essence of the divine.

We stand together
as one
witness to our
indelible, unsolvable self
and to all that is other.

To whispered murmurs and hushes,
to the bird in the rushes.

In secret pockets of the night
embers glow of eyes that see.

Forward and back
beneath the vast sky,
in luminescence.

Mine and yours,
a heavenly embrace.

With all that is movement,
growth
process.

Unfurling spiral of life
seed, shoot, leaf, flower.

And back, withering
becoming with the earth
underneath and over.

The tide runs in and out
as it follows the secret
stories of the moon.

Eyes glow and tears shine.
A quintessential saltiness
pressed from deep within.

I release to witness.
My heart quickens.

The in and out breath
that shapes us.
The bridge between
words
arcane, sudden.

‘To see the world in a grain of sand
and the heavens in a wild flower’
said William Blake
mystic, poet, unknown.

My breath soft and shallow,
I soar into the sky
holding form, dear
to essence,
one instant, so precious.

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