What is the significance
of aromatic ferns?
That boy and girl have discovered a secret paradise:
rolling around in the earthy scent,
their clothes staining green
from the moist spiky fronds,
seizing stolen moments,
pretending to be grown-ups. My
envious stare meets them head-on,
of a deeply mourned youth.
Emotional backlash. Bees
lead me back to the open road.
Hunger of the Soul
has to be assuaged. Clear sky -
boundless, infinite - isolation's antidote.
Inhaling it's deep blue.
Freed, calmed, lifted - by meditation
on such unbroken expanse. So open.
Probing possibilities, like
the famous mind of Einstein:
aware of the planet's spinning,
it's suspension in outer space,
to invisible shooting stars
and ascending like a rocket - the state
of metamorphosis, Nature's miracle,
that lump-in-the-throat moment
that renders the Soul wholly open.
I am suddenly
catapulted through time:
a retro journey back
to before the Dolorous Stroke -
to the meaning of Fate itself.
Devoid of shade,
sun beating down mercilessly,
as the ether magnifies it's rays.
Here is my Akashic Record,
the Prophet's transformative madness.
Observing myself blunder through youth
and into the mouth of the abyss.
Witnessing a sacrificial burning
and the Phoenix arising from the ash - not I,
yet somehow the same being.
the lashing out nothing more
than immature retaliation
for perceived rejections and betrayals
inflicted upon me by other damaged Souls.
What happens to the heart has consequences.
Retracing my steps. The boy and girl
have gone, but the aroma of damp ferns
still permeates the air. Pure rapture
enters my pores, infusing my being
with a startling revelation...
reabsorption of a juvenile self
accelerates emotional evolution.
I am suddenly light, weightless as a feather.
Nothing can harm me now, not even death.
The ferns rustle in a gentle breeze...