Grey chamber, carpeted blood red
Meditation levitation ascension
But then a swift tug at ankles unguarded
For perils lie below but so does the light.
Hello mister, which way is enlightenment?
In or out? Up or down?
Blinking thinking sinking
Into the biting cages of raw ribs
Where a red sanctuary awaits the yellow
Summer; but the sun is evil in ever-winter.
Cawing cooing crying
The birds of the cage, the captive priests,
The white seagull flies, only so far,
The feathers fall, wintry white autumn,
Prideful peacock with royal blue
Changing achieving breaking
The ribs, light in- dark out.
Fly, fly over the sly dead crane,
Let the raven be wormless,
Let the robin feast; the broken rib
The staff of creation forms these words,
Which like the other fruit of the grey branch-choked tree,
Is greater, than the source.
My good traveller, enlightenment is where you point your finger. (Where will you point?)
~Ajay
4/6/18
