A Mystical Existence

As a being, I exist within a milieu that is called a society composed of a multiplicity of beings. To win my life, I must humanize my soul by feeling empathetic with the earth and its losses and it is to be said “ the feeling of my loss will ne’er be old; “ since I am a person who is initiated into religious mysteries and who is in direct communication with the divine. I am one with the universe, so I am all and all is me.

It is important to tell the boys and the girls that we are all children of the earth.

The perfection of attitude leads to sensuality ( activation of the senses ). My feelings are to be felt so heartfully. Yet, it is to be told that my heart is living an illusion and “ the fond illusion of my heart, “ is not to be welcomed by my brain. Because it will only blur m yvision in the attempt of finding the truth. So “ farewell the heart lives alone, “ and I amliving a life that is composed of numerous elements such as; earth, fire, water...

What is important about existing is to get away from ego and be humbled by nature and its elements. It is supposed that life is a lie and all humans are searching for the truth. I, as awriter, must find style just like a mystic finds God, “ in his own soul. “ So, let us say that we are all adopted by earth who is our mother and we are adopted because we are originally God’s children. Despite the fact that the air is “ so quiet ” and the sea is “smiling,” the essence of this magic is still mystical.The elements of mysticism are numerous such as union with the divine( absolutism ), religious ecstasies and interpretative context, enlightenment, spiritual life,and re-formation. Yet, I am far from being spiritual, and therefore my heart is living anillusion. It is a mystery to be initiated toward affirmation, and it is something beyond understanding. Let us gaze with “ growing love “ at the pure sky since our destiny is written in the stars.

I speak with “ mind serene “ about something I know makes my veins glow, but does not speak my truth. What led to this is the poet’s dream who believes the illusion to be true. This dream is hindered by a society that is a source of melancholy and vain making humans experience solitude, pain in the heart, distress, and even poverty. However, faith brings joy and spreads goodness, and my Great God! can affirm that “ my whole life I have lived in pleasant thought “ when I have thought of numerous things. Such as Chatterton; “ the marvelous boy, the sleepless soul that perished in his pride; “this makes my mind a lonely place for a young poet to live in.

True that I only begin in “gladness “ but will sadly end up in “ dependency and madness". But, “ dear liberty “ I am but a lover of yours and for this reason, my thoughts kept “a perfect stillness “ and many of them were even dismissed. I pursued in your chase until “the sun had almost touched the horizon. “ It is to be said that my way is beneath the “mellowing sun “ and it is “ a pleasant loitering journey “ that is only meant to bring mecloser to my shelter who is me.I have been told by the angels above that goodness itself is enough to have God asmy father and to “ never want joy. “ I am so passionate about the good I may do, but nogood will ever be performed if “ a passion is in you. “

This knowledge clarifies my vision and I am able to see “a world in a grain of sand ” and even see “ heaven in a wild flower.” I am but a winner so I shout rather than curse since that is what losers do to silence the truth. What is common between all children of God ( the light ) is that we are all led to believe a lie that makes us not see “ through the eye. “ Or at least not see the misery of this land where in every corner poverty advances and it is said that it is "a land of poverty!“. It is noticeable that the sun does not shine on the land where an “ eternal winter “ reigns making all of the birds hide in their golden cages. But it is to question, “ how can the bird that is born for joy sit in a cage and sing? “ by dropping his tender wing and forgetting about his “ youthful spring! “.

In supreme delight, a poet can still hope that the summer will arise in joy. To gaze again at the sky and see the clouds slowly saddening round, and making the “ star of eve “.It is wise to say that the view is serenely radiant, marked with melodies whose hymns sound like “ birds of paradise. “ Thus, like diamonds, they shine in their dance around my love only to “ muse upon tranquility. “

And God of all, what am I from them?

True that my passive brain is the one to blame for the solemnity of my intellect. Yet, such dim thoughts do not deny that I can still walk humbly with my God. The one I praise and have faith in to witness the deadliest storm. Under the new moon, my soul would be sent abroad by a given impulse joined with a phantom light to enliven this dull pain that resides in the void of my soul, evocative of impassioned grief from which I found no relief. How to deny this heartless mood of mine that advances from the corners of my void? I can still see the stars motioning away in the bluest lake of the Western sky and be amazed; “ how beautiful they are! “. And for this reason, I shall gaze forever at “ this light, this glory, this fair luminous mist.” Yes, it is a dream to be undreamt of to save the pureness of such moments. Hoping to be welcomed in a new heaven that I shall live on the soil of the earth. Only then can I dream of obtaining happiness and call it mine.

I can still imagine owning it and it being suspended by what nature granted me at my birth shaping the spirit of my imagination. What I truly need is to be felt but be patient because I do not feel a thing. All I can do now is not to think of what I need, and this very trait became the “ habit of my soul. “ Around my mind, it flew away, shaping circles that portray “ reality’s dark dream! “. I will not chase it but rather pause to feel the deepest silence of a crowd in its rush. These small thoughts louden in my empty room at midnight when I try to sleep.

Rising from it is a must my living soul has to do with a very light heart that projects its simplicity. I can still feel the frost of my solitude, and I shall not dream of death in my “sweet birthplace. “ Instead, I dreamt about the stars of the sky in “ the great city. “ Where I saw God in every proportion of the universe, and I can testify what a great universal teacher he is. My eyes can only admire the beauty of its romantic chasm motioning on a fertile ground through “ wood and dale “ only to lay asleep next to “ a lifeless ocean. “In the iciest caves, my vision clarified, and I revived through its delight to write, only to write, and that makes me a poet of nature.

I recall my childhood and youthful days like it was yesterday. My lost friend whom I still have not found, the forbidden love which I never dreamt of owning. I stand on this dry soil of reality as a lone star “ whose light shines on some frail bark in winter’s midnight roar, “ and still the blind cannot see me or hear my songs of liberty that wander in this desert where they long deserted, leaving me to grief. Driven like a ghost or more like pulled like a corpse from its grave into living again. Maybe, spring will come again and my spirit will then wilden and widen to flourish my art. I look up to see them wandering over heaven whose gates are solidly locked, and it is no surprise because I know it allows no monsters in. So, they rage on the sky by robbing it of its brightest stars for no one to see that they are only welcomed in hell. Yet, the sacred moon still projects my vision, and this, sadly, only soars my need to be lifted as a wave, a leaf, a cloud, or anything into the arms of my beautiful heaven.

These words I speak to earth that long sleep, and they become just ashes blown among the rows of mankind. And I can only question the wind; “ O wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind? “. This need can never be sweetened despite the delight of my spirit that the blind cannot see. You look directly at my spirit, considering it as one of the false ones who fly in front of your gates with the cruelest wings. I am but a lover of yours who just want to “ win thee back again. “ The silence of starry nights loudens the voice of my heart that yearns to be made “ thy home “, once more. But, the song it sings somehow soars when I reach the line that says, “ I am a star of heaven. “ These words are only felt by one lonely cloud that “ rains out her beams, “ and I can see very clearly the brightness of these drops as if “ from thy presence showers a rain of melody.”

This music only sweetens the sound of love and tints the gates of heaven a solid gold that the “ heavy-winged thieves “ can never dim off. I wish the world would listen to such a delightful speech said by a skilled poet whose words translate the harmony of its magic, which will be capitalized as “ madness “ in their ancestor’s history books. Every time I think of this, my sorrow deepens since nothing is left of our love but a fever. I can see it fading away, demanding to be forgotten.

But, I will “ fly to thee “ rather than waste time searching for a new love that will never resemble ours. I can only remark how tender the night is, yet there is no light here, and my eyes can only see darkness everywhere I look in search of death. It is true that I have always been in love with “ easeful Death, “ but it is now, more than ever, that it seems beyond seductive to just die.

In the ecstasy of my dream where I shall never think of sorrow again. I am but an immortal bird whose heart hungered for generations for the taste of love, to be toxicated eventually by the soft incense of its fading rose. It is a truth to be told yet my ears are in vain by the voice of the lie I hear during this passing night. I feel not like singing the “ self-same song “ that would louden my love for death. I can only admit to the stars of this sky that nothing is certain around here since it can be a vision or a waking dream. I can only ask; “ do I wake or sleep? “ to a sun whom I am very blessed to have as my friend. I hope the warmth of these summer days will never cease for the songs of spring to be heard again. I shall not think of them now yet I can only question; “ where are they? “even though we sound the same since “ tho hast thy music too. “ This increases my joy in knowing the wholesome beauty that will never be transformed into nothingness.

My faith is well-shaped to be deformed by the unbelief of their dark spirits. And “ in spite of all “, I still believe that nature is too noble for inhuman creatures to lay among its daffodils and curse the color green of its world. This is just another tale embedded with a love that is too muted to be heard and too complex to be written in simple words. Yet, its essence is to be felt so passionately since it glows from infinity where it has been defined as “ a cheering light “.That sort of divinity is surely haunting to a soul who is bent by affection. Although it is written in the stars I, as a being, have to trace “ the delicate amber “ of my purpose here on earth to eventually write my own story. For this reason, I hope to write many verses because “ before the daisies, vermeil rimm’d and white, hide in deep herbage “ I must have at least reached the middle of writing my story.

For now, my thoughts are to wilden on a path of uncertainty where I shall speed onward through its multiple flowers praying to dear God to never “ make an end “. In the wildness of this ecstasy, my intellect keeps searching for a way to rationalize the “ mad pursuit “ of a reckless soul in its search for truth. Yet, the road toward happiness is paved with promises of everlasting youth. True that the heaviness of such promises lowers the sky that crumbles down to shape finite. It spreads here and there on the surface of the earth as marbles with no beauty at all. A person can only wonder; “ if the desolated art will ever return? “. Generations are wasted in the pursuit of a dream that is hidden in the fog of a mystery called life. It is to affirm that beauty is truth and therefore the truth must be beautiful at least in the eyes of its last believers.

Despite this, there is a certain pleasure in mingling with the universe “ like a drop of rain “ totally unknown among its groans. True that society is not something I detest but nature has always appealed to my senses. Its features that I see in its welcoming lonely shores and the music I hear in the roar of its deep sea flourishes my love even more. My love for nature is beyond justified considering the fact that man only contributes to sabotaging the earth by marking it with various ruins. Man’s rage remains to this day as a shadow upon the surface of the earth. Yet, the sky sends him to his God to express hope of finding a near port on earth. For its water to wash these “ strangers “, “ slaves “ or rather savages from their desire for immortality. It is an unchangeable desire that maintains its stability no matter how many times the waves wildens its breeze to form a storm that ices the poles. True that it is sublime since it projects an “ image of eternity “ but it is undeniable that in its depth, monsters were made. Who then reappears on the surface of the earth to motion dreadfully alone.

However, “ ocean! “ I am but a child of yours as well as the sea. It is with delight that I assign my terrors and pleasing fears to the freshness of its water. For this reason, I can finally say a word of goodbyes to the pilgrim of love I have been trapped in my entire youth so “ farewell! “ to the entire scene. For now, I have to recollect my thoughts and distinguish them from the shells of despair. And it is in vain that I do so since the night is only made for loving. So “ let me love! “ this grief since it is only mine. This very portion of the pain I embrace translates the power of love I cannot share, at least not here. Since such thoughts would awaken my soul to feel again what I “ can ne’er express “. I must know to whom life addresses in its speech, only then would I remember the way back home. It is to be said that the entire manhood is unworthy to be blamed by a poet who is too indifferent to ask; “ why live? “ in the face of death.

My eyes are still looking around the corners of this deserted land seeking to find aground where my body can rest on this icy earth. This attempt is done in despair since the“ moonless air “ makes me forget about my passion. Still, I guard my hope in finding my way back home. I look up at the sky to notice its dullness despite the numerous birds occupying its surface. This only brings me back to the past when I used to live in a world where love was naturally given. Now ( the present moment) it is to be chased from the heavens above since “ no love was left “ on the surface of the earth to be found.

I look around this city to notice the famine in the rows of its crowds who are surrounded by unholy things that they consider to be holy. This outcasts the void in the world which surely affects nature. By now the ships are sailorless laying at the bottom of the sea. The waves of the oceans and seas are dead. The shine of the moon is expiring. And, lastly, the wind is high pitching the sound of loss of light to a darkness. Sadly, this very darkness is too universal to be fragmented by a pastor’s need for his prayers to be heard by heaven once again; “ dear God, save us from this hell called society."