Hanging around in the shadows,

meaningless gigabyte echoes

repeating like old gramophones,

 stuck in a rut;

what fun? What hope?

What progress?

 

All one needs to do is ask,

to spell out the hearts desire

knowing for sure that hearts do speak.

That intentional words and wishes spoken, prayed

are interactive, organic; creative even.

That every moment, any place gotten to

was bred by yesterday or year:

by individual application of will and intent

howsoever ignorantly or conditioned.

So here we are, seemingly powerless,

lost, wondering why and what

or who to blame.

Or what was missed, unheard?

 

they wail from their shrouds of despair.

 

Centuries, many lives withered

to grey nothings - of nothing:

shrivelled to dust and bones

walking, stalking the lost zones.

Earth-tethered ghosts, bereft

outlawed of their own...on their own,

wandering the bad-land perimeters searching for they not not what:

A way out? Or through?

An answer or sign?

When there is no such thing.

 

The stories of old

were full of unlikely heroes and quests

where gods played tricky games

and faith was a dirty word for folly.

Perception was a matter of eyes

not minds.

Then, further tales - and fancy fiction -

 of how we had the brain and brawn

 to fix anything - even the right to;

insuring our own security and space;

controlling the elements themselves,

utilising whatever we fancied

for short term and pecuniary benefit

regardless of outcomes.

Monkeys, swollen to self proclaiming demigods

-without the wit or sense of loving

let alone an evidential base.

let alone limits, they shout.

 

Indeed!

And that is what they got;

what brought them to the shadowlands:

self-created abdicatees segregated,

out-of-Time.

Flotsam adrift in the hinterlands

 - but not forgotten.

 

Options aplenty, forgone:

  to move, grow, change, make choices, turn corners, stall, hide, run,

 make leaps in the dark or plod onwards.

Then, accept, deny, blame, let go,

 open up, or baulk, judge, betray;

with consequences to each

 - whether to evolve or devolve;

back-track, side-step or stand-still

with knock-on effects, long and short

 both personal and collective.

The karmic pits we make.

The heavens and hells,

the under and over worlds.

 

Beloveds!

The veils between wear thin, grow out:

the portals loosen their hinges and locks.

The interfaces between this and that,

the here and there are fading,

their chrysalis skins splitting apart,

to allow freer passage inbetween.

The universe’s parts slowly realign

as the earth plates shift;

melding, severing the geometries

the same way that animate life-forms

 shed cells, regenerate and recycle,

adjust, link, recalibrate

so the boundaries between dimensions,

closed systems, interlocking networks

all synchronize, juxtapose, stretch

and assimilate

moving as a whole

infused with life forces

and rare juices, divine.