Shells of Memories

15

 

Shells of Memories are…

fragments of Mind…I think…

gnawed at by time

eroded by unseen elements

buffeted by centuries

scoured by forces of the mind

 

With them I

roll into chasms

at the depths of trenches

pitted by canyons of currents

a chipped end

a crumpled bulge of shell wall…

 

I listen for

echoes in those casings of the soul

which speak strange words

… holding the patterns…

but, crumpling and collapsing

the messages dissolve

 

 

I cannot differentiate between

the memories of the shells

the shells of memories

slowly becoming one with the shingle and the sand

forces beyond … pushing, rolling, revolving

clawing…

 

I feel that they spin…from where all emanates

released they spiral through the unseen tide

for  their span of life… then

all manner of matter succumbs to the lure of the abyssal vortex

a black hole…to which all is destined to return

 

If I look carefully within I see

beyond the black hole

a strange re-formation

where Light itself takes the fragments

remakes…

from the detritus and the rubble

 

The Eternal Creator remakes

forever eternal God formed Adam from the clay…

slices of light reborn anew

but within the reassembled fragments remains a memory

which Time Itself cannot delete…erase…forever eternal

we cannot erase but only watch…

 

I want to…

look upon the shells of memories

they which have become the bones within

for those which were the bones without

now wear bodies on the outside

…people talk of Evolution…

 

 

I roll ideas as the ocean rolls the shell fragments

of the Evolution of Thoughts

growing within their casing of brain and bone

and do they…

devolve

returning surely to the Source?

 

In one of those  information boxes on the lip of the cliff

I read that where we stood was once beneath those waves….

and as I scanned the words

beneath my feet I felt

a shifting motion an uprising of an ocean bed

beneath my feet… an outpouring of fossils…

 

It would be futile to take a spade

and dig down…shells of memories will ooze

upward between the grains of clay like

a fragment of a memory held

in the palm of my hand as the tiny piece of ancestry is

lost among the shards and grains

 

 

I want to say…

that all that we think

do…plan…dream

settles on the bottom of this vast ocean of experience

where all our minds are destined

to meet…in a strange eventuality

 

So…

does the flotsam of human doings

float, jostling like seaweed

or does it slide beneath the waves of  living past

subducting our living presence

and if so…

are our thoughts our own or shells of memories?

 

2014

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