Loom

Becoming human is akin to falling through the spokes of a rotating wheel

Then sieved through a giant gauze mesh, net, or grid

Into a massive vat of plasma soup

Where each unique cosmological entry-point into the material realm

Is embossed with a personalised blueprint

That affords both handicaps and blessings, necessary to play the game

Upon the amphitheater of the Earth plane

Where characters come and go

Shuttling back and forth like bobbins on a loom

Weaving the threads of all life-experience into a single tapestry

Crystallising hindsight into knowledge and wisdom

A most worthy path that will surely secure one’s seat in the departure lounge

For each soul that descends the Aethers to walk upon the mother-board of life

Is a perfect carbon copy, replica of the original source code

But will one remember, pay homage to the game-masters terms-and-conditions?

To love one another as thyself

Or will one become lost in service to thine own self?

For in order to return to the Source, one must retain one’s vibrational integrity

As pure as the day one was born

Fight daily, to keep sight of the vibrational frequencies of love, empathy and compassion

For the only way out of this simulacrum, is ascension

Lest one spends all of eternity in purgatory

An endless cycle between dimensions

Unable to reenter the sim, nor graduate to loftier realms

Having missed the ark, covenant-of-light

Contemplating with each passing Aeon

How one might restore the keystone in the arch of fate

And in so doing re-earn one’s rightful place

Among the exalted family-of-curves ✩

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© i-PL2022