Progress Of Evolving Souls
© Surazeus
2018 02 05
How strange that my mind attempts to contrive
roles of characters from long ago times
for strangers I meet so I comprehend
secret spirit that motivates their actions.
Whenever I mingle with groups of people
assembled to perform some social ritual,
that operates the engines of production,
anxiety about what role I play,
through spontaneous expression of desire,
activates the psychic function of writers
to compose known dramatic scene of action
which assigns each person with breathing soul
archetypal role for their character
based on genetic features of their face
so I can predict their speeches and deeds,
but I am no director of behavior,
and those old archetypes that my brain conceives
are based on people who lived long ago
whom my ancestors met on road of life,
so I must see beyond that veiling mask,
my brain designs from memories of the dead,
to see this real person act their own will.
Instead of mindless puppet who behaves
based on role some long dead person performed,
these people I meet, as I move through maze
of their thriving communities, constructed
on fertile shore of new-colonized land,
where strangers from distant tribes dwell together,
are conscious individuals with new hopes
separate from the minds of our dead ancestors,
so we play new roles in new social dramas
that we compose on morals of behavior
we hope avoids suffering of tragedy
and expresses instead visions of love
that conjures joy of life in comedy
so we create better world to inhabit
where any person interacting well
thrives through the function of creative action,
and thus we construct our Heaven on Earth.
My brain, urged by poetic tendency,
attempts to generate dramatic meaning
from every situation I encounter
as if my life is time-important story
that will effect the progress of society,
but every person, moving through the world,
designs grand narrative of social play
based on their own brain-centered point of view,
so we contextualize our minor roles
to conjure purpose for our deeds and words
that helps find reason to continue on
and not cease moving through the maze of dreams
till death throws our bodies in the cold grave.
I explore the virtual globe of the Earth,
zooming down to observe the complex landscape
of every region on this spinning world
where billions of my ancestors once lived
over the past ten thousand years of life,
dwelling on the lush shores of flowing rivers
in lonely valleys or on boundless plains,
building homes in forests of singing trees,
and raising children who gazed at horizons,
eager to explore beyond garden walls,
then continued on down the endless road,
leaving their parents in forgotten graves,
as they built new homes in fresh empty lands.
I have more information about Earth
and all the facts of human history
on this virtual globe about our rich world,
composed of photographs from satellites,
than all my ancestors could ever dream,
so I seek narrative about their lives
while mapping our journey ten thousand years
migrating from fertile delta of Egypt,
where all human tribes of our world began,
ever westward to land of Oregon,
the strange home not-my-home where I was born.
After ten thousand years of wandering westward
all my ancestors, coiled within my genes,
pause this hour inside my dreaming mind,
which aggregates all their memories in glow
of my conscious soul, and view virtual globe
to gaze back on the endless road of life
and contemplate the process of our hopes
that guided each individual ancestor
forward on some weird invisible road
that maps our golden path through maze of lies
so I can understand where we came from
and where we intend to go on our way
through tomorrow to future I yet dream,
as if some psychic compass navigates
billions of ancestors wound in my soul,
and shows each one how to reincarnate
so I awake from ancient dream of love.
My brain tries to assign familiar role
from gallery of characters in old tales
to each new person I meet in my life,
but they surprise me with actions of hope
I cannot predict, expressing their will,
so I know they are real people, alive
with passion to taste the pleasures of life,
and not figments of my imagination.
Collecting from experience of my life
random facts and stories of all past times,
I melt enormous pile of nuggets down
to shimmering pool of human memory,
then forge new epic tale of human life,
through alchemy of vital principles,
to narrate progress of evolving souls
that glorifies our triumph in sweet hymns
how we survive to generate new children
since we first rose tall from the lake of dreams
and sang our joys and sorrows to the stars.
© Surazeus
2018 02 05
How strange that my mind attempts to contrive
roles of characters from long ago times
for strangers I meet so I comprehend
secret spirit that motivates their actions.
Whenever I mingle with groups of people
assembled to perform some social ritual,
that operates the engines of production,
anxiety about what role I play,
through spontaneous expression of desire,
activates the psychic function of writers
to compose known dramatic scene of action
which assigns each person with breathing soul
archetypal role for their character
based on genetic features of their face
so I can predict their speeches and deeds,
but I am no director of behavior,
and those old archetypes that my brain conceives
are based on people who lived long ago
whom my ancestors met on road of life,
so I must see beyond that veiling mask,
my brain designs from memories of the dead,
to see this real person act their own will.
Instead of mindless puppet who behaves
based on role some long dead person performed,
these people I meet, as I move through maze
of their thriving communities, constructed
on fertile shore of new-colonized land,
where strangers from distant tribes dwell together,
are conscious individuals with new hopes
separate from the minds of our dead ancestors,
so we play new roles in new social dramas
that we compose on morals of behavior
we hope avoids suffering of tragedy
and expresses instead visions of love
that conjures joy of life in comedy
so we create better world to inhabit
where any person interacting well
thrives through the function of creative action,
and thus we construct our Heaven on Earth.
My brain, urged by poetic tendency,
attempts to generate dramatic meaning
from every situation I encounter
as if my life is time-important story
that will effect the progress of society,
but every person, moving through the world,
designs grand narrative of social play
based on their own brain-centered point of view,
so we contextualize our minor roles
to conjure purpose for our deeds and words
that helps find reason to continue on
and not cease moving through the maze of dreams
till death throws our bodies in the cold grave.
I explore the virtual globe of the Earth,
zooming down to observe the complex landscape
of every region on this spinning world
where billions of my ancestors once lived
over the past ten thousand years of life,
dwelling on the lush shores of flowing rivers
in lonely valleys or on boundless plains,
building homes in forests of singing trees,
and raising children who gazed at horizons,
eager to explore beyond garden walls,
then continued on down the endless road,
leaving their parents in forgotten graves,
as they built new homes in fresh empty lands.
I have more information about Earth
and all the facts of human history
on this virtual globe about our rich world,
composed of photographs from satellites,
than all my ancestors could ever dream,
so I seek narrative about their lives
while mapping our journey ten thousand years
migrating from fertile delta of Egypt,
where all human tribes of our world began,
ever westward to land of Oregon,
the strange home not-my-home where I was born.
After ten thousand years of wandering westward
all my ancestors, coiled within my genes,
pause this hour inside my dreaming mind,
which aggregates all their memories in glow
of my conscious soul, and view virtual globe
to gaze back on the endless road of life
and contemplate the process of our hopes
that guided each individual ancestor
forward on some weird invisible road
that maps our golden path through maze of lies
so I can understand where we came from
and where we intend to go on our way
through tomorrow to future I yet dream,
as if some psychic compass navigates
billions of ancestors wound in my soul,
and shows each one how to reincarnate
so I awake from ancient dream of love.
My brain tries to assign familiar role
from gallery of characters in old tales
to each new person I meet in my life,
but they surprise me with actions of hope
I cannot predict, expressing their will,
so I know they are real people, alive
with passion to taste the pleasures of life,
and not figments of my imagination.
Collecting from experience of my life
random facts and stories of all past times,
I melt enormous pile of nuggets down
to shimmering pool of human memory,
then forge new epic tale of human life,
through alchemy of vital principles,
to narrate progress of evolving souls
that glorifies our triumph in sweet hymns
how we survive to generate new children
since we first rose tall from the lake of dreams
and sang our joys and sorrows to the stars.
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