Thinking it was God’s will, he be ransacked in desert,
He watched the thieves ride off beyond the far horizon.
They had taken his camel and bag, he offered them his ipod.
Luckily, he was left water, he began to walk the 50 miles more
To Timbuktu. Twenty miles in, feeling it was time to rest
And meditate on his thinking this was kismet, he sat seza.
Soon after the wind picked up, the desert’s sand lashed,
Letting his clarity leave, it was replaced by realness bordering
On surreal. Knowing this was himself struggling with his
situation, by not struggling with it, he let go of that
Attachment too. As the winds howled they began to remove
Dust from his inner-mirror, his soul’s whispers, unhearable
Wafted lightly betwixt his eyes. As he felt them, he allowed
For 'discipline, the art of feeling awe', to unbe, for, as all life,
It came to pass, not to stay. He couldn’t let go of the subtle
Euphoria, and it grew. Trying to let it pass, as he knew it wasn’t,
It wouldn’t. Gaining in suchness, it became so that he thought
It was a mental mirage, until it was beyond clear. His eyes opened,
A caravan was headed toward him. While his walk without was over,
His deeper walk within, anew, would never end. He thought,
It was God, yet, it just could be dune spirit playing with his mind.
(Thanx to Carlos Castaneda for the great quote!)
Challenge :) JFTLOI: With K.C.;
phrase: 'beyond the far horizon'
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