A Tempest Of Dreams

 

So he found himself waking in a rowing boat

manning the oars of his destiny

on that river of life amidst all other creatures

A river, ocean wide, with passages narrow

rowing with his back to the future

and his eyes on the now and past of man 

His neck rigid as if blocked by osteoarthritis 

preventing to see destiny too clearly 

watching all the fellow rowers and plodders

Those in the now, in boats, rowing or steering

passenger or participant or drowning

already. This ocean of life has rough currents

Rowing he realised he's in need of a clear mirror

to look at what's ahead, into a future 

for this roar he heard, a horror, an abyss sensed

Neck hairs standing on end, where is he heading

could he afford a pause to have a glance

and in a blink, out of thin air, a passenger's there

She, the one that had entered his boat, mirrored the to-be

his visitant tells him that She'll be his cox, his mirror

for the fullness of time, first and foremost mirroring his self

And he's afraid to see his imperfections in the eye of the sacred

as he deems himself unworthy for the task at hand

and while that's how he perceives himself, it's not the cox's view

The unearthly visitant tells him that that's not how She sees him

and shows him in mirrored-eyes how he sees Her

now he's a mirror as She sees herself through his adoring eyes

As he's transcended in being Her mirror reflecting love's perfection

his chosen, essence, his guide, archangel, Jophiel

saying his projection of bliss's making Her radiant, seraphic, divine

And unrivaled by Her love did he see his self, loving, satis perfected

so he rowed that boat sensing more than seeing 

the kaleidoscope of man's past, its thunderous present, and a future

 

Heading for the abyss, yet She smiled lovingly while She mirrored all

and every living thing as he rowed steadily his boat

ahead, but never neared, as so many passed by ..and.. dissapeared

In this mirrored future as he rowed. rowed, rowed his boat to that ultimate ending

the apocalypse, in which so many, but not him, plunged

as he looked at his boat and oars, unmanned, and where he was he, there was I

Looking in on a dream, that he dreamt, while She was roaming freely in my dream

filled with this wordly vergangenheit and current decline

of ever increasing decay, of social breakdown of plastic soup and of pliable minds

And so enabling such waterfall, this planned destruction of life in sequential stages 

and he saw those made for the gallows but not to drown

witnessing all these characters and souls from William's dream of heaven and hell

As he sailed life's oceans from Lear's storm to tempest all prewritten and played out 

and even did he meet the few futured in Momo's seven levels

yet the mob the many just drowned in their numbered days of lust, greed and vanity

And he, in my dream cringed, recoiled, from every hurt, from Mazen al-Hamada's murder

kindling this guilt of ours of remaining safe, passive, inanimate

as Mazen's dream ended I woke with just this light osculation of Her on my lips and heart

She, the incorruptible watcher, limitless, inimitable, termless, infinite particle, immortal, mirror

sometimes, Lou, I do have the weirdest dreams possible he said

so, in my anomalous occult enigmatic singular living dream, my preternatural consciousness

© 2024-12-14