pi are square

the comfort sheets and feathered pillow
are but launching pads for eagles flown and doves return
former fair games for children in the vision of the mind
a certain kind
as open doors received them all accountable
for years of play (sometimes dismay in repetition)
but mostly to the realms of edges/verges
not unseen
but dreams waved off as fantasy
that's true

and all
the greatest teachings
earth timed
poured and moored
from aprons of the mind
(the Mason kind)
as all were gathered round the sacred fire
or lifted to the skies in ships of unknown alloy
OH and classrooms of a sort mundane
or lone quest in the wooded forest
there among the creatures feral
tame by comparison
and then
the recent crowded classrooms in a labyrinth of universities
with Bosch-like stairs

the secret 10 unburdened all their wares
into the pockets of a child
a noisy bunch they were...
then as the time of matter happened
there I stood
in routine mudras
fast preparing for the day
that saddest day
they left
they went away
.....I cried

for all the sadness in the sound of silence
thundered like vast vacuums of the spheres
not once imagined in these planes of earth

never did I know such silence
never but a kiss upon the cheek
or mild farewell
just thunder silence
how was I to know the Aeons sight
was held at bay
the gift of meager mind could not reflect these things
they could have left a sign
or templates of their Gold
or maybe just a Stone

I thought and wondered
what grave sin did I commit
why would they not let me come home
so changing clothes to once begin the days routine
a shift to bring
the All to matter form
oh yes
and all the gifts
they took them too
and left inside one pocket
such a tiny seed
perhaps a coin
I’m never sure
and in the other pocket
placed 2 promises that I should keep

course and clumsy
now i scaned all worlds for one fair sign
to find the placement of such items of the gods
why bother when they could have placed it there themselves?
so that I just don’t bore you with the details of the past
its just to say
...time past

for love I lent the coin the seed and fell it to the rocks
and watched
while my own foggy sight
drew foggy portraits of illusion's cause
and yet
not so
but paradox
the soul pierced gladly
thrice within these grave attempts

so now
I fast retrieve these gifts
Two placed anew
now I will not with any hesitation
Set my hand within the wounds
and see if furtile ground can bleed
and feed
and grow
this oak or apple tree
before I set such precious seed or coin

earth time will pass an urgency to find
fruition of the tiny task
one sign
no number
casting back
no thing
no fear
into the Giea plan
geometries
across the grid

realization in the acceptance
not the giving