Inverted transcendence

Always evolving beyond the natural of physics,

we can no longer tell the difference

but know that it’s growing

whatever it may be

Must have been simpler

to foresee God’s open arms

like a paved way

to transcend

with mellow tranquility

My thoughts exactly

as I paved the way

with a joint

waiting for the shrooms

to reinvent existence,

slightly cheating

if you ask the ascetics,

I don’t

My rules are written

on the blank canvas

of the background space

but I can’t agree

to being born that way

You see, a child is more

like everything than nothing

The position, in stead, is blank,

a child would have to agree,

there are no familiar shapes

in the topography everything

from an all new perspective

The strangest thing is nothing,

all too familiar,

ultimately like a homing beacon

making everything an illusion

– that’s the homogeny at work,

unfolding desolate

I would suggest that further

dimensions are natural,

it must have felt like

even the third was paranormal

when the child discovered

the world wasn’t a canvas

Others aren’t still convinced,

they say all is but God

and no further discussion is required

or welcome

that we have been shut

into ourselves

for the coming eternity;

the soul is an individuation

and because it’s ideal

it’s infinite

I just can’t agree,

a bummer it would be

I suggest rather use the back door,

it’s open if you are

just look inside

but don’t expect nothing,

expect everything,

dosed according to the whim of winds

It’s not beyond

but below

You see,

grace, the soul

is always assigned

to outer characteristics,

some observable trait;

She’s kind and loving, see,

but doesn’t fool me

The soul is an illusion if something,

a shroud worn for the occasion of death,

but you can never tell

when the spectre comes,

so you are always dressed to go

Unless it caught you

on a bad moment,

pants down,

as if you weren’t eternal

on the moments of release

and relieve

It’s the animal that dies,

they say, leaving nothing

but it’s the animal

that has been

and can never be undone

You see, time is movement

and the animal moves

even if you didn’t

but you’re no stone angel,

are you?

And even if I sit here,

I might have escaped,

beneath that shroud,

unworthy but transcending cumulatively

for more regions to come

Cut off like you

and alone

but I allow for more

than just myself.