CURTAINS OF TIME  By Antara
 


              Corridor of Marble, tall windows each side

               Billowing sheers ebb like the tide.

                  They swoon with the wind, dancing ghosts of white,

                  Inhaled Exhaled by the starlit night.
 
 

                  I am carried away by these Galleon sails

                  Enraptured they are luring me, please step off the trail.

                  Tugged like a puppet upon a cool marble sea

                  Passing portals of chance, veils beckoning me.
 
 

                  Reflections, my projections, they get in the way.

                  Whispering mirrors, confusion, etched shards of gray.

                  Window after window like snapshots of time,

                  Grasping, clasping what is not mine.
 
 

                  Years of tears or great windfalls of joy,

                  Beauty- pain- passion, am I crone or curious boy?

                  I keep walking thru time, many lives I glance,

                  To see what might have been, what if, if only, perchance.

                  I keep walking and walking, I wonít skip a beat.

                  Ignoring the curtains that entangle my feet.
 
 

                  Look up! Thereís an opening, a rooftop view.

                  A Panorama of Self, I find what is true -

                  No beginning no ending

                  No above no below

                  No within no without,

                  Not ONE thing to Know.
 
 

                  Corridor of marble, hallway of time

                  Crumbled to reveal what had always been mine.

                  Shattered the walls that kept me apart,

                  That segmented views,  that fragmented heart.

                  Now I breathe like the curtains, sitting still just to be.

                  Ocean of wisdom, timelessness, all beyond ME,

                  Is here, Is now, Is forgiven, Is free. . .
 


Paradox

 

      you have to care. But donít care too much.

      Detach, but hey,  donít get lost, donít be aloof.

      Love deeply but donít attach, donít entangle.

 

      Keep them safe. Set them free

      Oh god, there is a million of them.

      The rules. The rules, the belief systems, all carved in stone, unless that is,
except when Ė (fill in the blank)

 

      Paradoxes and illusions. We buy into them all the time.

      I walk the line with all my beliefs. I buy into them partially, just in case, that is,
except when I donít.

 

      Kids need structure. Donít fence them in.

      Ach!! Whatís a poor thinking person to do?

      I think of Buddha living life in one extreme of richness, then swinging wildly
to other extreme of giving up everything, of total
      poverty, then coming back to center. To balance, to the middle way.
The middle way has tinges of both extremes in its
      center land of gray. Not all black not all white. The gray way.

      Sometimes the gray way feels blah

      Not the brilliance of white

      Not the deep void of endless black

      Its neither

      Its both

      It feels like fog somedays

      It feels like sitting on a fence

      It feels like walking the line and never taking a stance, never fully black
never fully white.

 

      I want to land here, but where? In the land of gray?

      I want to tell a story, but this IS my story. Wanting to be fully something
but not being quite anything fully, I feel like a little bit of everything,
a mish mash of the palette. And it feels bland. Yet I am alive, I am in a body
and I want to be passionately
      blindly bright white to dazzle, but I want to get lost in the shadows too,
to fade into nothingness and mingle with the
      no-ones, nowhere and not care, to hide in the kingdom of dark.

      Yet I want to shine.

      Again the paradox. I am a paradox. It applies to everything in my life,
to everything I think of, so much so that I cannot land
      in any one spot to speak of it, because it spirals endlessly inward and outward
and just how do you capture that with words,
      I could show you in the dreamtime easily, but not here, not with words,
maybe a feeling will come thru the curves
of these letters but I cannot land in the land of black
and traipse into the white and keep this exact shade of dove grey.
I feel like one of those hypnotic spirals of black and white
that spin and lose definition.

 

      I think this is making no sense, but then I have captured the essence
of paradox havenít I? Yeah!

       Its mixed up, itíll shake your head, and rattle your cages and
leave you wondering, huh??

       I am very good at making people go huh? Mainly because
thatís what I am thinking too. Huh?

 

      In rereading this, the image of the yinyang symbol pops up. Of course.
How trite. How true. How perfect. How simple.
      Capturing that which makes me stumble, what seems so hard to describe,
in the simplest of drawings. Duh says my
      monkey. Duhhhhhh.

       

      *Antara* howling in the forest wearing a hundred shades of gray

 

  © Antara <antara@cruzio.com>


 
 

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