Something in the mind, the consciousness, the brain
I feel that I cannot, no matter what, attain
Like trying to stop the falling rain
It brings a faulting, failure pain.
In a moment of melancholy
Like a howling faithful Collie
Bemoaning his master’s folly
That loss of flock drove him to suicide.
What is it that suffers the consciousness
Unknown and unseen monster of Loch Ness,
This uncontrollable feeling of sadness,
Is it the thought of having this madness?
(Some cannot wait to get to their Nirvana or Paradise, but…)
Could it be the pain of not leaving our Paradise?
The tenacious tentacles that reach like ice
Into every nerve and fibre, even to the eyes
Eating away at Peace like voracious mice.
The unstoppable nibbling away of composure
As panic seems to rule my mortal enclosure!
There must be some ready remedy for sure,
I pray and ask for help from Masters pure.
I ask for some physical, tangible truth
Of the certainty of our eventual move
Evidence not of the mind, not higher than the roof
But seeable, touchable, readable proof.
There is no part of me that is not worse
Than we are stuck, which is averse
To our longing for the converse
And that this fear is nothing but a curse.
A spell of my own making that has no form
That I in mental anguish need to reform.
I ask for Peace within to be the norm,
That my worst fears are nothing but a storm.
Will all the noise of thunder and flash of light
Soon illuminate and clear the darkness of the night
So that I will once again regain my sight,
My faith and trust in my own might?
The strength of will, belief and trust
That this fear is merely a mental thrust
Which I can in a flash immediately distrust
Bringing me back to my mental must!
The must of my conscious happiness and joy
Of which this mixed up mind has become a bad alloy
Of curses, fears and pains and like a fall of Troy
Been brought about by Spirit’s playful ploy.
After all and upon reflection of this jest
I realise it has been a rather painful test.
So did I pass this examination of my crest?
In heraldic terms the warriors arms are manifest!
So the worrier may return to the warrior’s quest
Hurrah, hurrah! I know that I am blest.
I myself am not averse to an occasional jest
And wish, sincerely, that you too will pass every test!
© David Tenneson 2014.
With Love, David