Ode to Consciousness
There is a meeting place of mind and eyes where images compete for conscious view and where perception banishes surprise at what is beaten down, and what wins through. With or without our influence or ken it's here our individual selves begin; for some are dulled and others walk in sleep never to wake again, though quiet voices whisper in the din of time for laughter and a time to weep. That part of us that is no rushing thing awaits our quietness, or our fatigue if nothing less can calm the eddying onrush of our futilities. Intrigue, infatuation, habit and despair crowd to the fore, impatient - yet it waits forever and beyond. Is it so weak that it cannot declare an interest in our battle with the fates, or does it hide because we fail to seek? What flows below the words may yet awake remembrance of an earlier array of promises fulfilled. Each new mistake derails the latent urge, with each new day, to change before the changeless. We can hear the choral syntheses of soil and soul proclaim the unity of earth and mind in answer to the fear of gradual dissolution of the whole of consciousness, as molecules unbind.