Continued
. . .
The white shell path: This path was
made of the perfectly good but discarded outer shells of wisdom and knowledge
broken to release the contents of their inner life. White, for they were good;
crushed, for they were empty, and scattered on the ground in the pathway on which
I walked, to get where I longed to go, and be where I longed to live.
The door: This was the inner choice made
each moment to leave what I knew behind which made what was beyond appear
before me. For the dimensions of door were the length and breadth and width of a
person holding nothing; only then could one fit through: ‘naked’ did we enter
this world, and ‘naked’ do we leave it…to enter the next, here.
Continued
in Writing Saga # 20/
These
are the titles of the next three ‘ragged
writings’ of Amethyst Poetry:
The Golden Tree
Song of Still Water
Farlight Sightings
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