Opposites converge within me;
I contain multitudes.
I contradict and argue with myself,
Not knowing what truth is.
Philosophy blurred the realm I thought as truth,
(How naive I was then)
The deeper the digging the more I un-knew.
What the point of “truth” when reality is questionable?
They asked me why I read the esoteric;
Hermeticism, Rosicurianism, new age, and so on,
I told them even “I” didn’t know.
Mind suspended from reality is the best candidate.
Answers come in flashes feeling like lightening,
the esoteric pulls me, not for conversion;
Not that I may practice magick,
Not that I may convert lead to gold.
(There’s lightning in the distance,
It back lights a dead tree next to a a prosperous one)
I am propelled onward to extract metaphor,
To absorb the ideas of all fields and then
To re-experience through these new senses,
that are laden with symbols.
This is my ars magica;
My modus vivendi.