XII The Hanged Man 08/26/2012

This feels like beauty.

Flowers and the sweet smell of good earth

Ants and grasses and green and damp

As I hang here from this branch.

I see the bright blue sky above my feet and

The branches of these trees, they are perfect.

The grasses and insects and sweet, damp earth

Thrill the blood in my veins; I am connected.

I was meant to hang here from this bow,

Now at the end of my days

To be tied to the one thing

I’ve never known, to the Unknown.

I’m hanging from an idea I had of unreality

That I realize now is as real as anything in my long life. 

Which tells me that mystery is an illusion.

Everything that was down has always been up.

Evil has always been good, as a way

To purge darkness from the collective experience,

And good is the satisfied feeling we get 
from being in alignment with life.
My past actions were desperate attempts to achieve
That which vibration could have brought forth with no effort.

I sacrificed myself for this wisdom

And my striving brought me to this wondrous end.

For now, the sweet smell of good earth is enough.

My hair is touching the grasses,

I am an extension of the grasses.

I am a dragonfly.