You were born humble. You
took to hermetic things. You made friendship with elements, stars, minerals,
energies. Mindstuff became of vital importance. Like most people, we’re shepherded
by a parent religion—like some people, many branch out. It seemed evident: “How
to mitigate/obliterate the human condition?” (Of pivotal concern—What’s
forfeited—if it’s made possible?)
Sunflowers are witness—to
ghostly pains, made in substance, somewhere inside, and neurotransmitters are bombarded
with medicines:
science found salt is
important to mental health.
You learned to intervene … to overwhelm … and listen to
concerns, feedback, knowing sources, thus, solidifying the authenticity of
practices.
In reality, made smarter, tremendous wits, genius in
respects, mesmerized by the arms and legs of esoteria.
A
cedarchest was painted with emotion. It was filled with papers, small boxes,
trinkets, paperclips, magnets and such. It was filled with new wood scent. Just
to be in proximity, meant to seek, to touch, to read history. There was a
secret compartment. It was discovered years later. It was fraught by medallions,
dried, well-kept leaves, petit dice and silverware, small binoculars, opera
glasses and such. You were there in the
makings—meant to encounter us—meant to become memories: some shared, others
tucked away.
