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The Thin Veil

October Twilight
In the silent shadows of the quiet hour
when the world's asleep but wants to wake;
In the stillness of the forest grove,
Autumn's crispy leaves crunch underfoot.
In the undergrowth of unconscious mind,
a searching spirit longs to find,
The Spacious Heart
Roots of Sorrow
A lingering, subtle sadness, roots me to the earth,
where the dark ground of the person
to its death is drawn from birth.
Within the gravity of sorrow
as human hearts contract with aching,
Logos bursts through Gaia's womb
to be born and then awaken.


Letting go
One thing I think I know for sure:
our human hearts don't understand
pulsating pain and the beating blood
oozing from the psyche's clenching hand...
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