- The
Archetypes
- 'Twas a
time when the mist of the water hung fresh
- and
Earth's cooling mantle still glowed.
- While the
land heaved and moaned its painful birth-song
- and
living things crept
- Those of
the nether-realm soared.
-
- The hour
was young on this day of creation
- and young
was the fruit of the earth.
- But
always and timeless were Those of The Realm
- while
centuries slept
- we lived,
died, and moved on.
-
- Theirs
was a life not attached to the Earth
- for such
is a Soul of The Realm.
- Their
years were our epochs, Their moments our years,
- Their
ashes our dust
- yet we
could not see them.
-
- Our
living brought life to Their colorful kind
- our
hopes, fears and passions renewed them.
- And we
without knowing were nourished by them
- and each
gave in turn
- the gift
of fulfillment.
-
- But
centuries slept (as we lived, died, and moved on)
- our
destinies, paths came to differ.
- Their aim
was in conflict, though simple and pure
- and we
could not trust
- Their
becoming as One.
-
- We
strove, with sad diligence, never as One
- we
struggled, kept peace well at bay.
- Our goal
was in running from wholeness and truth
- they
couldn't outshine
- our
hearts' inner blindness.
-
- So they
planted the seeds of Themselves in us all
- and
dormant, withdrew from the Realm.
- They
trusted the promise of spiritual warming
- to bring
life anew
- to the
Garden of Man.
-
- Though
each bears potential, not all of us nourish
- the meek,
fragile seedling within.
- The soil
of the heart is too rocky in most
- and bleak
the prospect
- of roots
finding purchase.
-
- Thus we
walk today in the furrows of life
- not
seeing the garden beneath us.
- We hold
in ourselves the secret of wholeness
- which
waits for the rain
- to bring
fullness again.
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