Time has officially ceased obeying linear rationales.
Launched headlong towards its genesis, it spirals
in golden fractals: A telescoping tunnel
generating kaleidoscopic variations
of all we can imagine as real.
Picture a flower bursting
forth, offering its inner-
most chambers
to Original
Light
in endless
unfurling
layers of tissue...
And there, forming in its
ova-glorium, soul-seeds ripen
to perfection... All is as it should be.
Contained within God's Love, we're carried
home on our return journey, drawn inexorably forward by
our yearning and the sweet afterglow of our most cherished dream.
~This poem is dedicated to Robyn Crouch, a friend, sister seeker, and creative genius.
YOU ARE READING
Into the Blue Black
PoetryA collection of early musings on the nature of the Universe and my infinitesimal part in it.
