The short story of our true selves is that we all are eternal. The long story? How long do you have? Who will write that story? We all are. And so with eyes we see, and with eyes we believe. But what is it that we see that we know not deceives? With physical eyes do we see to pry. To pry out the truth, to know its true worth. Yet within that prying along comes crying. Crying from what we know not, and crying from the got not.
How can we see when the eyes deceive thee? We look with another set, the ones to be discovered yet. For there is a world to view with physical eyes askew. Yet within that world there is more to view, the view within another hue. For physical eyes only see within a certain spectrum. The other set allows one to see another stage, a stage set awaiting the spectator to behold.
We tap and slide on our phones all day. We stare at screens displaying their created play. We fix our eyes on another’s design. The mind behind that design does capture ours in time. We sit and view the show that goes on. Another episode, another repeated pose. We fix our eyes on the spectacle in play. We know not of another way.
Yet out of nothing a story unfolds. A person seeing from another hold. A hold that brings a boring yawn of the attempts at deception at every dawn. For a sun rises today as true a million yesterdays. This truth beholden closed eyes can see. The light cannot be blackened lest the tightest of squints try with mighty persistence. Yet the illuminated screen lies despite the time of day.
With other eyes one can see the forever light. The light that unfolds brings to those who do go. Going with faithful a heart, trusting in the knowing not. Another place is seen illuminated by another beam. Rising to the occasion by pausing in submission. It is given like a shower of enlightened transmissions. It is there for those who dare.
The soul does see a mountaintop gleeming with angels above, their flight is surely known of. A soul does go amidst fellows of old, in places unsure of, yet to witness thereof. A flight through a space, no body, no trace. Yet see the soul does do, its travel is of new. To do once again what it has always been. Free to be amidst the sea of trees upon a world not known of, yet remembered like a dove. Having returned, the knowing forgotten is no more.
No one can take away that which is inherent. Memories are like that no matter the flight path. Learn to fly again and the inherent returns. With eyes remembered one finds their way again. Even amidst a world of deception, we never truly lost the perception. When we look within we become free again.
