The Earth turns in shame,

Hiding its hazy face, in the wake of your ancient glory.

Prehistoric pillars of billowing gas

Give groundless foundation to your ethereal terrain,

Witness to the parade of numberless players, forever flying away.

A starlight stampede emerges violently, yet silently

From the darkening depths of your servant’s hidden quarter.

And I find myself caught between disappointment and relief. Because what I believed to be the pinnacle of solitude, the end of my days among the multitude of bodies and souls, clashing and merging and falling into nothingness…

Revealed itself to be just another crowded dimension.

Must I redefine “peace”, if I’m ever to have my own? Or must I accept that peace is something that is not harbored by an atmosphere, not cradled by solid ground…

But something fostered within one’s own mind. For however long it may last.

I am no more than a peripheral fixture of bound flesh, unlit, and damp with the odors of my earthly nativity.

And now I push forward, into the cascading, luminous host of your celestial wilderness.