Ghosts of Shrines

There are ghosts in the mirrors that I pass. They move swiftly in passages of windows and walls of reflection. They are held where I build my memories, house my discontent, and forge the very ideas that keep me thinking I am separated from you. A ghost is as thick as I am separated from God.

Between myself and God there is a gathering, a gathering at Her gate. To gather is to enter Her gate. I gather where Her matrix opens through the shadows which encircle the Tree of Life.

There is a circle of shadows beneath the tree. We are all this menses haunted dream; the recurring nightmare. She rows us around storms and quakes, Her oars studded to shine in the mind’s eye. All we can see is the slow pace of a journey with no end. Memories’ loop replaces the dusk with the ambiguity of broken symbols and disappointed looks, now more than ever.

These symbols. These broken symbols keep the past lingering in both lost and fond hopes, my soul searching it’s mirrored landscape until pieces no longer know how to return…And their light, my glowing soul takes, making animated these still and stagnant memories.

I have lived in moratorium, stagnant and halted by the expectations of ancestors and planted disguises upon which I stood like a silent clown waiting for a passerby to rewind my tomorrows and applaud my mimicry. Tinkering around in loops I heard the voice of a prophet, who was followed by a glowing door as She traveled between worlds. Her words, like no tongue from Earth summoned my attention “If you are sleeping, you are also awakening. As you are ascending so you are also descending. If you are stuck you also carry the gift to release yourself.” And I choked on my tears and sang a song that bubbled up in sobs and then I came to calm the drama of my heart , and rest into my stagnating steps. The light of Her presence began to penetrate my moratorium, and I was made to express again.

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