Stories of triumph begin with a fall.
All through history, they apply to us all.

First gaining momentum on a selfish appetite.
The day comes later, but first comes the night.

Taken into a place to get myself free. Yet it felt like bondage, not for me!

Caged by the busyness of my racing mind.
The fog stuck around. myself, I failed to find .

Voices nudge me into the simple, the mundane
It’s not for fame, or pleasures, or prizes to claim.

Removed from the chaos of life’s trivial games.
Small lessons trickle in from these ancient names.

Suddenly, the elements become who I am.
The world I once embraced is now but a sham.

Those daily pleasures stopped knocking at my door.
Invited to turn inward to find what is pure.

The Self, my God, or a native tribe.
Yes to all, for my eyes are open wide.

Not the eyes that the mirror sees in me,

but those eyes of the soul which seek eternity .

Lance W.