In ancient times also
there were mind explorers,
body worshipers,
disappointments to their mothers.
When time was a blessing
on a too tight rope
they were initiated into
the hearts of baboons.
Offerings above, please.
Bodies below.
As the dead sun sleeps
in the netherworld each night
spirits return to their mummies.
Ancestors pray.
May their bones be knit together,
their members be made firm.
Belinda Subraman
Beyond Meaning
There’s a seeming realness of grounded thought
and an awkward fit of another human
in our dream.
We can share space and agree
to be tolerate of illusion.
We can agree to share some meaning in our lives.
Meaning is the weight in our heads.
It could be excessive rumination,
the looped reels of life
or the invisible force behind our acting out,
the dream that makes us crazy or calm
or sure of what could never be but is.
Meaning is the assignment of the soul.
We long for the fire of illusion
that does not contradict
our earth bound reality
but rides along on a higher plane,
something that sparks the aura,
tingles the essence and
sends vibrations through the cosmos.
We long for the embodiment of love,
torn between blissful numbness
and the excitement of too much stimulation
and weighted expectations
all for reasons we do not realize
are substitutes for what we can not know.
Beyond Meaning poem by Belinda Subraman
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