All Their Psychic Dreams © Surazeus 2024 09 28 When I feel gloom of existential angst at terrible death of innocent souls caused by natural disasters and cruel wars, I drink cold glass of soil milk on the porch after the wild hurricane passes by, and wonder why no god lives in the sky. During the sixty years of my weird life natural disasters and wars have occurred in countless lands around this spinning globe, yet why I am always in the safe zone, still avoiding Death by fortune of fate, baffles my mind with its random mandate. So while people die in faraway lands, I drink cold soil milk in sprinkles of rain that shimmer rainbows on back of my hand, so I understand why people believe angels from Heaven guard their lives with love, though I know no God dwells in clouds above. How comforting to believe that some god with supernatural power, who knows it all, has secret plan for every human soul, though so many die in terrible pain, which seems to help them endure suffering, but all I can do is breathe deep and sing. Like poet-seers four hundred years ago who sang epics on Isle of Avalon, I like to personify Death as Bride with star-bright eyes, who wears white cotton gown, so I can feel at ease when she is near, because Nothingness is nothing to fear. I know how strange it is I am alive from random events of cause and effect where choices humans make define my fate so I am born as atoms organized in genes that replicate themselves in souls who design socially productive roles. I walk signless road sea to shining sea four hundred million years of soul rebirth as organic frames for immortal genes that embody spirit of Earth in brains who wake to savor beauty of the world expressed in riddles by the cosmic herald. My brain that emanates my conscious self was programmed to perceive and analyze by each ancestor struggling to survive who generated life before they died, so I am sum of all their psychic dreams which I remember while gazing in streams.
Surazeus Astarius Συράζευς Αστάριος. Cartographer. Epic Poet. Hermead epic poem about Philosophers 126,680 lines of blank verse. http://tinyurl.com/AstarianScriptures
Orpheus gazes in River Styx and ponders memories of the lives of his ancestors that program how is brain perceives the world.
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