Ancient Sage - Portrait

Portrait of The Ancient Sage
April-October 30, 2002-  Edited Sept. 22, 2017
Gordon Coombes

Leaning on his staff
as he walks along the stony path
swerving snaking up and around
the mountain where he lives finds solace
and solitude-

carrying a lamp to light his way
like Diogenes
as the long evening shadows
begin to darken his way-

incessantly caught in this moment
wondering whether this is the beginning
or the end of his long apprenticeship
the sky the wind the clouds passing
the mountains remaining as stoic sentinels-

all the Avatars all the incarnations
of a thousand Gods all the Saints
all the Angels all the Demons
remain forever silent-

after centuries of patience Isis reveals
her secret opening a slight crack
in the gleaming shimmering singing
celestial spheres of the spinning Universe-

a little pure light creeps in
through the cracks in the Dome
of the world-

remember what has been passed onto us
never force it
if the veil of the world is ripped
open too soon
these visions will overwhelm us
ripping us apart
leaving us broken damaged forever-

caution is our byword
each step measured carefully
pondered & weighed-

the Alchemist accepting visions from the otherside
befriending lost & curious spirits
who wander through our houses
who wander about the streets
who sometimes take rides on buses
who linger on street corners
waiting for answers-

                 II

a healthy body
is but vanity
if the spirit is
left to fade & die-

all the money we hoarde
will not give us honour
nor peace of mind
nor happiness
while our soul
is left to languish-

the Spirit within waits to be revealed
ending years of deafening silence-

stealing one's self in this
time of uncertainty
all our adventures
all our past deeds
all the fellow travelers
we have met
all our struggles to survive
to push our limits
all our side-trips
down mysterious dark roads
into the realms of twilight
all are nothing to us now
becoming desperate at the last hour
to change our fate
to heal our invisible wounds
each day enfolded in despair
each day empty & sad
each hour is torture
each memory rips open old wounds -