The Turning Point
There are so many turning points along the path of life and each meandering way is unique.
There are events that change us and yet there is some constant self like the renewal of our cells, everyday, throughout our lives, and yet we still grow old. Perhaps the constant is the seed self or the soul of truth within us that is born with our body and left behind in what we have produced.
Turning points often happen after some trauma; some event that is more than a challenge which forces a decision on us.
We make that decision, turn from the trauma and, quite often in the normal run of life, never look back.
The forced or imposed turning point is often the right way and we wouldn’t want to go back to where we were before.
We are moved on in life once there has been acceptance.
We have been to so many turning points.
The child, where most things are provided for the growth of an infant in a well adjusted family;
The teenager,. That stage in life that is culturally, forced, holding back from fulfilling capabilities while we learn, change, metamorphose and search for the elements in the life outside of us and the family that will help us find our potential.
This brings angst for there are always conflicts.
Then young adulthood when the flourishing starts to blossom. Our lives expand. We live in a big world.
We meet difficult people, they create turning points. We encounter difficult events and hard to come to terms with episodes. If truth is our guide, we find our way or we just get through.
In the later stage in life, the turning point can be a refining process. We have done our experimenting. We have gathered so many T-shirts. We have developed the character. We don’t want to waste effort on the adventures of youth. So we turn again to focus, to really fulfil for all too quickly our world becomes smaller.
The Day Cries
The Day Cries
The day cries tears of endless rain
And sings a sad song
As we go through the motions of the working day.
The day tries, as the remembered highs and lows
Map a broader picture
To shine on a dim light.
The day dies to the old ways
To find the gold in the earth.
The mud and the mire will reveal more
As Gaia grows her cloth.
The day sighs and breathes a deeper breath.
I breath the song.
We sing in the unknown choir,
Severally and individually,
We have the power eternal
And the day flies
Into the bloom of future hope.
The influences will not stop the flying.
The Trinket Factory
The Trinket Factory Will Make us Burn
(The turning points that have brought us to the tipping point)
When kings and emperors were divine
The people couldn’t speak
When the literate spilled their skills
The water of the alphabet flowed into minds
And the dormant awakened and grew.
When portraits became an individual
The imagination spawned many lines of descent
And the strip lynchets were stolen;
The common holiness of the people was made redundant
And the emperor wore no clothes and took a biased share.
When we became remote from the source
And the belief system of money for money’s sake
And the velocity of the turning to yet turn again and again
Turned and spun.
Then the spinning tipped.
The people shout at the deaf divinity of the kings and emperors
Who wear no clothes in the centre of their trinket factory.
The earth will rage and burn.
The flotsam and jetsam of life; the inside and the outside made sense, recycled and the juxtapositions of words re-formed, re-configured for creative reproduction.