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Daydreams falling down from the hands of ancient gods: stories of the forgotten ones. The memories handed down generation to generation: words of the ancient ones. We reach upward from the earth to the heavens hoping to catch a falling dream, since we have lost our own. We live out the seasons tangled in the simpleness of our lives, waiting for that moment when the gods speak to us. In silence we wait, holding still our lives for a brief look at eternity: waiting for that voice that will tell us what to do. Unable to hear their whispers because we keep our souls locked up and hidden away, beyond unconsciousness where even nightmares dare not venture. We keep the door tightly sealed so that no one may enter. We live our lives in shallowness: living in empty longing for a dream we can no longer hear; a vision we cannot see; memories we choose to ignore. And they laugh at the complexities we made in our lives; and they cry at the tangled webs we have chosen to create, sewn together by threads that always break. Our youth lost in the tides of the ocean, crashing down on the rock until it submits into pieces of sand, caught in the pull of deadly riptides; youth is washed away. Minor miracles of their hands left unnoticed from the fear of belief; and major miracles receive unwelcome invitations to our lives as we marvel at the wonder and disbelief in their truth. The voices that have been silent will wait no longer on the pity of humanity. Their words will no longer be mere echoes of some distant past. Their dreams will no longer float on clouds of eternity, but will trickle down like rain on the hands of time to each being. And the breath of the gods will be felt again. Their lives become real in a moment, as the first person shares the dream. And the soul is brought forth from deep darkened chambers, back into consciousness we live again- listening to the story-tellers words.
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I caught the song of the sun on a sea gulls wings, diving down the side of a cliff, in search of hunger satisfaction, a primal urge, an instinct,of survival. Caught in the desperate fall of its flight, until its graceful landing upon the ocean, feeling safe once more, breathing once again. The ancient, mystic songs of a civilization lost among the cliffs, waiting to be awakened, at the last breathe of existence; the moment of wondering, if you will be alive at the end of the journey, or if you will crucify your soul to save sanity. In the air once more, the sea gull drifts on the fingers of the wind, calling on the forgotten gods. They held out for him the ticking clock of eternity, waiting until it would be his hour to know the calling of death. And our souls become one, and I soar with him, into the sun, waiting for the future to fall from the heavens. Only to find the cliffs of ancient life, of memories, left behind in unconsciousness, to be remembered only when tumbling down on the wings of the gull. Our souls become one, and as the body fell away, we entered the gates of eternity. We had learned to live at last. Upon entering, the forgotten gods smiled, there, before our soul, stood the cliff; Ancient, mystical songs, floating from the ocean before it She stood alone against the night - shining, glimmering in the darkness. The clouds move across her face, a veil covering her light. She is full, and her wisdom and her words, find their way into my heart. I am listening to her voice. The veil removed, as clouds dance away from her grasp; My laughter filled the silent air around me, as I learned, that I understood. I watched her from a distance, far greater than touch, and felt her power and her loneliness. She was only the Moon. There were no more questions or answers as time and past, came and went. And, their voices carried through the heavens, laughing and singing - the stars holding hands. The whispered words of children playing, while the moon and sun stood apart, and watched. The fingertip rays of the sun, touching the cold surface of the moon, and found there was more there than her reflective face.
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