The Mind
The mind is a dangerous place.
It is the heart
and so it is always roaming into lands unconquered:
cities with their gates left open, unguarded,
homes we fled with dishes left in the sink,
Pride peeking in the window, hoping it was missed.
It is the heart
and so it is always returning to gravesides:
places where pieces of itself died,
little markers stuck into hard earth,
Guilt laying the flowers at each monument.
The mind is a dangerous place.
It is the field where the actual meets the fantasy,
and Imagination makes the unreal a tangible sin.
It is the sword that plunges into wisdom,
It is the venom that paralyzes self control.
But the mind is a beautiful place.
It is the heart
and so it is always blooming in lands of deathly aridity:
droplets of water joining one by one, a trickle,
an unseen spring of selfless nourishment,
A Servant, secretly blessing its master.
It is the heart,
and so it is always restoring what has faded away:
picking up fragments and returning them to their rightful
place in the mosaic,
taking up two halves of rope and tying them back
together,
A Healer, closing wounds and setting broken bones.
The mind is a beautiful place.
It is the field where the actual meets the potential,
and Hope makes the seed a tree.
It is the food that revives a starved soul,
It is the water that straightens the wilted vine.
In every moment of life I have a choice.
Who shall be my owner today?
The mind is a beautiful, dangerous place.
Ponderings...
Thursday, May 1, 2008
