I am an enigma without a name. I am a traveler cast ashore, homesick for a home I have never known. I miss the company of people I have never met. I long for their conversation, to speak with my mind instead of my lips, in a language beyond words, alien to this world. Thoughts, emotions, and experience transmitted in waves hiding nothing, no confusion across translation, no misunderstanding, no walls of ego. Fear dissolves away. In another's thoughts I see the reflection of my own. We are separate, we are one, we are never alone.
I am the dreamer who is not asleep, who has awakened within the dream. I walk within a landscape of symbol and sign. There is a song on the wind for those with ears to hear. It carries a riddle, buried in rhyme, composed by the universe. There are signs along the road for those who have eyes to see. They direct all who seek the truth, leading them blindly to a paradox which can be neither fully understood nor explained.
Cosmic poetry written in the verse of subatomic physics, the casual connection between mind and matter, the magic of unknown science. It composes the lyrics of our faith. We are both the author and the audience, the creator and the creation. When we listen for God, we listen at the door of a house we are predestined to build and inhabit. God sends a telegram from our future, the blueprints of our destiny which we stumble blindly to fulfill.
We are the child in a womb of consciousness yet to be born. Our psychological clock is counting down. The astrological calendar is running out. We have slept through the long night, only to awaken minutes before daybreak. Naked in the blinding light, stripped of illusion, the sleeper will rise on a razor’s edge. And yes, some must awaken prematurely, to clear the dangerous path ahead for those who still sleep.
Advent of Awakening
by Paul Venturi