Fire rites: inner revolution on a binge.
Parts of me have traveled through uncounted time and space.
I want to say what I mean.
And mean what I'm feeling.
No need to run outside for better seeing.
Or walk to nearby windows.
Staying here -- the right place for being.
So Sartré said.
The more I leave it
The less I'm free.
Search your heart and see,
We are not unwise to rebirth gradually.
The way to do is to be
(I've always felt that).
The way to be is to do
(That thought has plagued me too).
I've ordered and organized reality,
Too often simplifying.
I thought the price right, buying.
Letting it happen to life I once called sacred.
I've been lying.
It's been harder than I thought to love prevent.
Am I dying?
Awareness haunts me, and her brother, chaos.
Today untamed, tomorrow unnamed.
Not really knowing if I'm going
To a meeting between my other selves and I
Or to a soulless flying.
Letting go is like this: fear and lying, faith and crying.
And bargaining, no denying.
Giving up puts backward parts of me behind,
Yielding, a different mind,
Where broken-ness is sane.
The pathfinder is pain.
Joyful evolution, the seductive gain,
Some say even cellular change.
That's what we came here for.
Gods always ask us for more.
I am dying.
Quenching colliding forces and hatching new self.
Composure never quite setting in,
Like rigor mortis?
Instead, my consciousness and being,
Grasping one another, flex and unbend,
With endless ends and new beginnings.
Fire rites: flames licking, transformation finds a home again.
© Copyright 1985, Ron Sterling