once the breath goes out. . .

"it's fit to burn
you flesh will burn like tinder
your hair, like hay"

in some surreal landscape
i broke the rules
and came to the spot
where all paths intersect

all the possible trajectories
terminate
in this single inevitable crossing

legba opened the door
st. peter or charon
or whomever your stories refer to
as the cloak of death
some gatekeeper at the portico of infinity

and when the door was open
all of the lies and limitations
and false dichotomies
fell away
and where once everything was discouse
there was only unity
and all illusion ceased

as if the final set had been struck
and all the scenery wiped away
to reveal the mechanism behind the curtain

but all the actors were gone
the audience was gone
and the stage itself was rapidly fading
even as a memory

and the wrathful guises
of every regret
each fear
and every prohibition
threatened to steal my focus and resolve

when they failed
each temptation and desire
and every fantasy of glorified self will

tried to perturb my pivot

i passed them all

and came to the abode of the seven wardens
and i gave them grips and tokens as keys
and each barred gate was opened

until at last i came to the heart of it all
the solar unity at the center

and alone i moved as the blood of the swirling planets and the vortex
of the solar sea

but even this passed
and unity
passed into nothingness

it troubled me not a bit

no more than a sculptor is troubled
buy the shifting forms of his clay

and conquering only the idol of form
fear itself is vanquished forever
. . .
copyright Peter Asher Watts 2008