2017 08 10
Staring at the statue of Aethelbertus,
first Christian King of Kent, carved from white stone,
who stands tall in Canterbury Cathedral
on my misty island of Avalon,
I see my own face reflected in his,
like millions of souls in America
descended from both gods, Jesus and Woden.
What are gods but ancestors of us all
who show us how to grow beyond ourselves
and dream reborn in our genetic coils
that spiral sparkles in our dreaming brains?
Having stripped all ideologies away,
to free my mind from delusions of faith
in religion and nationalist pride,
I stand naked in the cold rain of time
only myself, creature of flesh and blood.
Named Albert at birth in lush Oregon,
far from the misty island where he ruled,
I drop the mask all my ancestors wore
and walk faceless in the vast city streets
where people from every nation on Earth
swirl together in silver Seattle rain.
I see the children of all ancient gods
alive in new bodies of flesh and blood
inventing new dramas of love and war
we write through daily routines of our lives
preserved in tales of personalities
playing roles that express spirit of our times.
I may be King Albert alive again
but I tear away the cocoon of his mask
so my soul emerges with unique wings,
and give myself new name, Surazeus,
to dream the ancient world with reborn eyes.