Is the inner Power
	That motivates me?
	Why have I
	From belief to belief,
	But found none
	So sweet,
	So satisfying as that
	Which I left behind?
	Do I mold
	My paths and ways
	With conscious thought,
	Or does Life
	Bring me
	What it will,
	Without regard
	For my puny strength?
	No one
	Asks the flowers
	Why they bloom,
	Nor birds
	Why they sing;
	What drives me, then,
	To analyze and dissect
	The clockwork of my life?
	Is experience mine
	To sift and weigh
	With infinite choice and skill,
	Or do the dull
	Wheels of Time and Fate
	Grind on relentlessly,
	Heedless of my whim?
	Is what is real
	What I see,
	Or is what I see
	What is Real?
	Do I forge
	The links and scrollwork
	Of my time on earth?
	Am I the smith
	Who works
	With passion's fire
	And the steel of reason
	To hammer forth
	My whole self
	In all its intricacy?
	Or am I
	Bent and twisted
	In the grip
	Of unseen force
	Directing all I know
	And am?
	The world is full of questions:
	Who am I?
	What do I believe?
	Are the answers
	All within?
	And even knowing,
	Can I understand?
	It seemed the World was golden
	And knowing tasted
	Sweet upon my lips.
	I was whole
	And at one with my world.
	In me
	Shone the sun
	And laughed the limpid brook;
	Blossoms burst
	Within my soul,
	While the streaming wind
	Coursed through my veins.
	I rode the clouds
	And in towering trees
	Grew tall.
	Through my yearning heart
	Washed the restless sea,
	And mountains
	Were my bones.
	With the eagle I soared,
	And plunged I also
	With the mammoth whale.
	Nature was in me,
	An electric fire
	So pure and fine
	As to be nigh unbearable,
	Vibrating through my sinews,
	Sending awe
	From cell to cell.
	Where is all that now?
	Where is the freedom,
	The ecstasy,
	The overwhelming joy
	Of being I once knew?
	Does age
	Suck away the thrill of youth?
	Must maturity
	Maim sensation and emotion
	Until nothing remains
	But ashes
	Of the once bright flame?
	I gave up
	The world I knew,
	Hungry for a world unknown.
	Now I thirst
	For what was left behind,
	Not knowing
	If or whether
	Along this plodding path
	There can be return.
	The mind shapes
	The world it sees,
	And through belief
	Forms action and event.
	Once changed,
	Can consciousness spin about
	Yet again,
	To face grandeur spurned?
	In Nature
	It is innate
	That spring follows winter's
	Chill and dreariness,
	And summer brings forth
	The fruit of joy
	Sown in the vernal sun.
	Cannot, then, the mind's winter
	Likewise be followed
	By a renaissance
	Of joyful feeling,
	A return to at-oneness
	With Creation
	And with Consciousness?
	Why not!
	But the way
	Will not be an easy one.
	Just as pain
	Twisted through the ebb
	Of sensate certitude,
	So casting off
	The shackles of ill belief
	Will shock and sear
	A mind
	Grown accustomed
	To its wearisome ways.
	Yet, the goal
	Is worthy, infinite,
	Grand beyond all belief.
	To know oneself
	Whole again!
	To know once more
	That unity of self and world,
	Which before seemed
	So clear,
	'Twould be rapture,
	Delight scarce felt
	For many a day.
	To the task, then!
	Cast out dull belief!
	Remold consciousness
	To the honored form
	Once known
	But so little appreciated!
	Reaffirm that All is One,
	That in self is All,
	That through these veins
	Run the currents of all Being.
	We are not alone
	On this winsome sphere.
	All we need do
	Is feel and listen
	For the pulse
	Of Creation within us,
	Look for the sparkle
	Which animates
	Stones, trees, stars, seas,
	Winds and waves,
	Peaks and caves--
	Everything which Is,
	Including every one of us.
	Once cast aside,
	This joy is too keen,
	Too precious
	To not regain.
	Then the path is set;
	The journey has begun.
	I shall believe once more,
	And believing,
	I shall see the glory
	Of a world
	So vast,
	The Mind of Its Creator
	Trembles to behold It;
	Yet, so compact It is,
	That within my heart
	It fits,
	And there
	I feel Its steady,
	Eternal and joyful
	That I, too, am indeed
	A Child of the Universe.


© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

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