Coming into Being: Waiting at the Threshold

strangegoingsonintheshed

portrait-322469_1920[214] Image: Pixabay

It’s been months seen we last faced each other. No, not quite true. Each morning I greet one aspect of him guarding our porch and again on return in the evening. The statuette sits on the window ledge, as did a previous form, a gentler persona this time. His Nibs (or Anubis) as I affectionately call him, has seen me through calm and turbulent times over the years. I’ve occasionally neglected our association and focussed on other matters. Perhaps I wasn’t ready at those times to see his true message. The gods choose us rather than we choose them. This much I now understand.

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Farsight

Sue Vincent's Daily Echo

Without the hand of Man the sun will rise
And set in splendour with the dying day;
The soul of beauty does not need our eyes.

Man’s fate was never written in the skies
Though in its blue reflection, portents play
Without the hand of Man the sun will rise

True beauty, by its nature, never dies,
Though Man is lost and found along the way
The soul of beauty does not need our eyes.

Man’s insignificance the race denies
And seeks illusive dominance for clay…
Without the hand of Man the sun will rise.

The essence of our being flees its ties
And from a higher vantage sees a way
The soul of beauty does not need our eyes.

When ego has no need of alibis
Then truth can live upon our lips and say,
Without the hand of Man the sun will rise
The soul of beauty does…

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