To every ear who can hear, I embed a mystery
Beneath the soil that has felt no toil
Sleeps a hidden seed of eternity
Eternity? Oh, do take tea.
And slip into Wonderland.
By the time you finish (just one sip)
You may find yourself forwards and backward again.
To every eye that can see, open wide and read
(Between the lines of my rhythm and rhyme)
To heed what man has not yet gleaned
On the perplexities of time or no time.
My friend, may I ask you, is Time your master? Is he your father?
Is his tick a friend, his tock a foe?
Is he which or is he neither?
Come now, I ask in earnest.
I wish to hear what you may know
Is he heads or is he tails?
Hm. Let the riddle now unfold:
The seasons have all ended. Eternal springtime I bid thee come.
The ages have apprehended, but even they will melt with Dawn.
Then the Tree that has known not (decay, death, worm or rot),
Will give its juices to those overcomers by truthses
wearing their crowns of forget-Him-nots.
Now, I bid your mind move faster
And with me do ascend
on wind-swept feet to spirit streets
through routes of silence with Elohim.
For the closer you rise, to His heavenly skies
the slower your hair will age with white
its no theory (of relativity) …really!
it’s just a fact of the matter (or matters demise)
You can live in a freedom that’s forward
(Beyond the waves of this current current)
For to think in advance, is to gain entrance
to gifts of early grace and assurance
For there comes a day of wax mountains majesty
that will yawn into the morn of a new tomorrow
If we keep moving onward and toward
we’ll reap of a land with no tears and no sorrow.
Beloved, slow your cadence in the Kingdom’s grand hall
(and pass through ancient gates that do beckon and call)
Then you will hear the secrets of Methuselah’s leaven
and realize there’s no magic to living in Heaven
Portals swing wide with the tiniest of keys
when you believe you see, not see to believe.
What physics be this? Is it really so real?
That I can be robed in the Above
while still here on earths wheel?
Come now, into the blackhole squeeze of the hourglass
(each bead its own little world)
And fall into place from Right-Side Up to Upside Down
Where Reality is not the reality you thought it were.
Oh, Children of Light
(Let your spirits not be cramped)
Travel instead on light-beam speed
And gain fourth dimension by inheritance
If we are in Him and He is in we
Could we not be as timeless as our omnipotent King?
Perhaps He wishes we were with Him always, all ways
to be as He is, the Ancient of Days.
Oh now I digress! It’s far too much to digest.
But here’s the secret I’ve been trying to say
If you go back to Aleph, He will give you the Tav
And Eden will grow on our doorstep again
Maybe we’ve been here already once before
(So, you already know what I’m about to relay)
Maybe there are memories older than we
that dance in our bones longing to make their escape
Time is a master AND a father
but of restlessness and early graves
He forever says there’s never enough
demanding rush, interrupting hush
And making short of godly long days
What he calls day and night
is really only dark and light
Even moon and sun will blush at their plight.
And bow to the King whose golden beams burn ever-bright
Time will say, “there’s nothing new under the sun”
“Histories repeat and man is stuck in a rut.”
But we are the ones under the Son who is God
where ancient is new and the unfolding is fun
What Time may call “fountain of youth”
is really just a soon forthcoming truth
It’s Water of life, from which drinks the bride
where spirit and she both beckon Him nigh
If you call Time master, he will be enemy
And time will move faster, demand activity
if you call him father, don’t expect a good gift
for he will steal and he will cheat and very seldom will he give
Time, we call you servant.
And in humility you will bow
To the ones who are seated
(In the future and in the now)
We are the ones who are at rest and your tongue we turn to mute
You are not father, master, author
And we are no longer governed by you.
Come, be baptized in water, just as He did lay,
Like the One who did turn tables on the lies we once called graves
In river, running both directions at once
Time, he’s not elusive, he is a material (can be touched)
so hold out your hand and watch the sand
pour back neatly into your palm
for now, we’ll declare what only few can know
by way of a mysterion-song:
“Oh time, you’re not our master
and faster we shall not move
We take a seat upon our thrones
and whistle happy tunes
Oh time, you’re not our father
you can’t convince us of your ways
We only have one Abba
Yahweh, the Chronometer of all our days.”
When Time is stilled into his rightful place
And all is in order (and over him, we reign)
Then will we see that Time was a gift given?
Can it be so? Can our scrolls be re-written?
Perhaps Time is for us to know our God bite by bite
and to savor the richness of His ways and His life
For to try to swallow His goodness at once
is like drinking an ocean before the sun meets the dusk.
In end the cherubim
Will set down their swords of flame
Then they will say we are ready to eat
(to come fast from the east and sit at the feast)
and bite from the tree that will brand eternity into veins.
Oh Being so otherworldly
to be like You is where we set our goal
and if you are Times master, father, author
then so it be for ones You call Your own.
Dedicated to my Soular-Sister, Tanna, with the Kaleidoscope eyes who never thinks I’m “too out there.”
P.S. If you want to indulge more than just one sense, I suggest listening to Leaving Earth by Seven Lions. Words can only say so much, but words + an image + music can say more.