| In the midst of the void God said Let There Be Light |
| and in this holy instant
we find ourselves unknowingly immersed in it |
| clambering for the cabbage it takes
to afford a decent survival amidst the dangers of life, liberty and wild goose chase of happiness |
| growing from the Earth like moribund dandelions
seeking to spread our seeds to the wind |
| striving to populate our world
with egos intent on independence, spores carrying the knowledge of good and evil and bringing an allergic reaction to Truth |
| as we gauge whether or not to trust the reality we encounter |
| stepping each moment from the folly that was
into the folly that will be |
| persecuting ourselves for our limited perspectives
of life’s kaleidoscope |
| no longer able to cuddle up in the lap of our Creator
as we dance before the King with somersaults and pratfalls |
| enmeshed in the shame that His court throws at us
with eggs, tomatoes, and the sticky mess of moral absolutism |
| But should we regard their mockery
as representative of the Kingdom? |
| Is our soul’s poverty really the deed we need
to inherit the home we belong to? |
| Stripped of everything, having nothing to lose,
can we seize our celestial birthright? |
| The questions leap from the checker boxes of eternity
as other minds seek solace in the game we seek to win |
| and trumpets bleat like jabberwockies
each time the king doubles up, calling us to reach the end of the board |
| yet the expanse stands before us,
the chasm of infinity separating our being from our will be |
| and we find ourselves unworthy of the dream
as we continue to wipe the muck from our eyes and see only that which the hecklers have smeared on us |
| Yet we must decide whether we wear their crust of many colors
or dress ourselves in the robes of our choosing |
| with the realization that it is we who are responsible
for our wardrobe and how we fill our pockets |
| As the Man of Miracles spreads his wares on the table
and invites us to use our tools as they were intended |
| Directing the Heart to Love |
| Coaching the Mind to Learn |
| Supporting the Body to Live |
| Delegating the Spirit to Leave a Legacy |
| Merging with the flow of Nature
and the grand Intelligence that loves her in the cosmic kama sutra |
| Forging ahead with apathetic abandon,
prematurely ejaculating on the road to enlightenment |
| As the Goddess reckons us again as mere subjects
to the higher rulings beyond our caste |
| wracked again with the grief of our explosive inadequacy |
| We find solace in our tears and comfort in the heaving of sobs |
| Allowing the laughter to overtake us
as we find ourselves again on the floor of the court |
| and Mother Nature looks from her throne to the field beyond
where we may run free and naked |
| yet find ourselves dumbstruck in the stern gaze of her suitor |
| we are paralyzed by the reckoning of authority |
| But we are not meant to cower. Humanity has a higher cause |
| and so we allow ourselves to become all that we are |
| for it is the return to our Source that we seek
on this madcap ride of reality |
| the religiously pious point the way toward this eternal joy
with one hand as the other wanks them off under their robes |
| through the simple pleasure of just missing greatness,
we receive shekels where we could have bullion |
| Will we ever be good enough
to truly consider ourselves made in the image of all that is? To be used for the eighth day revival of creation? |
| Or shall we hang our heads again
under the veil of what could have been if only… |
| If in the beginning was the word,
perhaps a new word will start it all again and we can speak our destiny into existence |
| But if we say it with want,
we relegate it to the realm of nonexistence |
| and again find ourselves submerged in lack |
| But the lack creates a vacuum,
and our imaginations have the power to fill the void |
| for all things start as a thought |
| before they blossom from the vortex
and congeal the bounty of being |
| where we build our nests
from the scraps of relationships past |
| in the hopes of uniting
with someone just as dysfunctional as us |
| and finally spread our seed into winds of hopeful change |
| acknowledging the lessons that sprout in our garden
from the divine out through di branch |
| When we are taught to learn
from the mistakes that we have made on our zoetropic excursion into madness |
| finding our fury in the trail of shattered failure left in our dust |
| channeling our rage
into the next heat of the race toward self understanding |
| moving headlong into accepting ourselves
for sometimes coming in first, but often never placing |
| Do we stand as winners in this game
or merely obstacles for the winner’s amusement? |
| The matter is that we stand |
| the difference between being of the earth or trod into it |
| for our footing has not always been sure |
| but we have taken each step necessary to get here
and don’t feel like stopping just yet |
| because there is a surge in our belly
beyond the fortitude of our last meal |
| at the center of our being,
the flow of who we are pulses with the rhythm of the cosmos |
| to find that beat, the echo of humanity, is to take the first step |
| and awaken to Who we are |
| and find ourselves alone |
| in intimate solitude with the rest of the populous |
| to find that our righteousness is the righteousness of the world |
| letting go of all that weighs us down
in our quest for the metamorphosis we seek |
| seeking without the need to find |
| hearing without the need to listen |
| days come and go and the seasons spin like a marigold carousel |
| where it stops no one knows |
| but we all try to be where its gonna stop so we can start it again |
| we all wanna be winners |
| to bring something to the world besides potential fertilizer |
| to be made perfect |
| blameless in the I’s of those we call They |
| to vanquish our foes and rise to our challenges |
| to find the connection in all things |
| And when we fully listen, before we speak |
| when benevolence becomes our being |
| and we comply with the request of the Now |
| Our imperfections are made perfect |
| through what we are, did, and do |
| no longer content to merely theorize about the life we want |
| or to want for the life we don’t have |
| but to stand with our Creator in the majesty of the moment |
| to look back on the steps we’ve trod |
| and accept the resolution of karma |
| opening ourselves up to embrace whatever she might bring |
| sacrificing ourselves to the pyre of our own fate |
| to be made in the image of the Phoenix |
| to tongue kiss the grave |
| and let the birds eat the bread trail behind us |
| to go deeply into our depth |
| into the cacophony of stillness |
| and let go of forever by grasping infinity |
| There is only one thing we know |
| and only one thing we need to know |
| as one drop repeated digs a canyon, one step makes a journey |
| opening us up to the course of all progress |
| what our hearts might learn and where our minds might soar |
| building on the energies that congeal around us |
| speaking life into existence |
| so that each word is both a prayer and an answer |
| to release us from the chains that still rattle in the darkness |
| the threat of nothing if we shan’t be everything |
| How do we teach ourselves
to stop doing the things we’ve taught ourselves to love |
| though they continue to topple every tower we build |
| but when we simply watch the moment happen
in the eternal essence of now |
| we find our way through the rubble
to find the person we were looking for on the other side |
| developing beauty all around you by realizing the beauty in all |
| letting the light of change shine where death so often lurks |
| to see that same light within you grow as theirs grows |
| the true power of love in all of its flow, bliss, highs, and glories |
| For our call is simply to be all |
| to provide the action that is called for |
| in whatever phase is called upon
by the crater-faced man in the moon |
| to speak what must be spoken for those who yet have no voice |
| to create our lives
with the talents, skills and resources at our disposal |
| and find the completeness of life in the life that surrounds us |
| Synchronicity becomes the most astute technology |
| as we spread the seeds for its harvest |
| striving only for doing what can be done |
| and realizing ourselves as the coagulation of all creation |
| the elation of existence |
| the radiance from which life radiates |
| rising into eternity |
| Connecting the dots between your thoughts
and the Original Thinker |
| Seeing beyond the veil of samsara as it is rent in the eye of God |
| and the vision of the celestial masterpiece unfolds before you |
| taking in the awe of creation in blissful stillness |
| cultivating the peace which compels understanding |
| so that we may be called sons and daughters of God |
| and return to the paradise of our beginning |
| the flame in our hearts as the light at the end of the tunnel |
| and realize this as the day of Atonement |
| which we share with our tribe |
| Where our journeys of Oneness have converged |
| speaking our own brands of truth
through our own brands of insanity to reach the One Brand of Wisdom |
| that echoes through our chronology as the Word become flesh |
| A Word despised by men of force that draws the lowly to Power |
| infusing the eternal revolution |
| rising against the gnashing of teeth
into the sweet embrace of Nirvana |
| beyond the memory set we call self |
| to wear the crown of our birthright |
| and Know |
| that our attention to the web of connection |
| will always guide us safely through the Unbroken Path. |
The Unbroken Path
Author: Steve McAllister
