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I can tell I am alive

I can tell I am alive when

I peer through this painted

book of living and find

a blossoming wilderness of

phosphorescent words and

bright edged colours.

Where what’s inside collides

with what is out

on the page

in a way that brings me to

warm tears and the honest

heart aching conviction

that this path of wild forces

this tender garden in which dreams

are born, nurtured, betrayed,

bent and

born again amidst the raw soil of reality,

with all its thorns, blood and

insuppressible natural beauty,

is where I am meant to be.

In a shudder of

exquisite pain I shake

off the feathers of the past

and watch then fall silently

into the cradle of

yesterday’s womb.

I stare through the mist of

blinding light that pours

incessantly

against my cheek:

a hand squeeze from

the other world

from whence I come

I open my eyes as wide as I can

until at last I can see the reflection of

the immortal face

from which I was created

and to whom I have pledged my soul

again and again.

A beloved promise,

a wild unbridled urge

beyond all human boundary

or thought of

corporeal reciprocation.

An ecstatic craving,

lawless and uncalculating,

to give and give and give

every inch of my every dimension

in this hidden, ever-present

infinity of

beautiful moments,

bittersweet creation,

electricity

and dust.

Written 2004

#experimentsinspirituality

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