Sitting upon the throne I revolve my mind
spiralling evermore in the vacuous space of existence
seeing . . . knowing . . . experiencing the changing state of my life
a continual alternation of seasons unfold before me
behold! a coming storm pervades me, it squashes me, and continues on
oh, the joy!
behold! a small sprig within me sprouts, grows it silent bud, and burst forths its petals
oh, the joy!
behold! the great sun bears down upon me, giving me its glow
oh, the joy!
behold! fading life, changing colors, death falls upon me
oh, the joy!
endless . . . constant . . . a great exclamation in the paths of my wanderings
see me fall, wreaked unto oblivion . . . and die a death
and this too: . . . to be reborn anew!
to stand with new life . . . inhaling a primal breath
. . . all in a day! . . . a life!
oh, the joy of it all overcomes me
here I sing the song of my revolving self
catching me in its cycle, changing me, transforming me
such bliss . . .
I’m moulded into someone new, someone young, someone old,
being born, living, dying, and being being born again . . . an endless continuous song!
but I ask of you, I plead you, Great Life, one small thing:
give me the eyes to see, so that I may see the time of my season
allow me to behold this wondrous sight
to set it upon my breast and draw it upon my mind
in this way, Great Life, I may sit upon the throne of life
(This unrhymed descriptive reflection is about the endless living/dying cycle of life, of how our self continually changes into new forms, changing continually like the seasons. It speaks of growth and the life and death growth requires. But, more importantly, the last part refers to the NEED to see this happen, to observe ones life and death for, without this sight, the cycle goes by unnoticed. To truly experience growth, and its life/death cycle, a person must ‘observe’ it oneself. This takes self observation. This is not always easy. The embracing of the ‘life’ of growth is generally easy, but the death . . . that’s another question. Observing ones ‘death’, with its pain, conflict, despair, is a great achievement. But what can even be harder than death is seeing oneself ‘born anew’, for the birth of a new self can be painful itself. It’s not uncommon for us to resist the coming of the ‘new self’ as we tend to want to keep hold of our ‘old self’, the self we know. Watching the ‘seasons of the self’, with its life/death cycle is hard but, in overcoming this, we find the great beauty and harmony that it contains. Truly, it is a joyous thing.)
