In the sapphire softness of the moonlit night
Linden leaped over walls of impenetrable white
With catlike pounce and familiar grace
Earth brushed against feet yet left no trace
The pulse of the mortal quickened Linden to flee
From nothing, to nothing – purely desire to be
No treasures were lost and no treasures were found
Linden’s grasp of projection, matured so profound
An entire night’s dream in a blink of an eye
The perception of life may equivalently fly
Linden walked upright, for he possessed his attention
And clearly regarded all spiders’ pretensions
Contented with running, Linden slowed his pace
Then turned to see one followed with an arachnid face
Every encounter grows ripe within its own season
So a lamp drew his refuge for this very reason
Through open door Linden courteously called
And stepped in warm silence of a library walled
He directed his attention to a book on a shelf
Illuminated pages filled with knowledge of elf
But the symbols inscribed were not to be read
Columns of markings, meant for performance instead
Now apparent, the purpose of twin ivory sticks
He stroked them down lines as a guitar is picked
A chorus of bells filled the room’s rare air
With an apparition of a girl, blue-eyed, fair hair
The magical sound so pleased Linden’s ear
As he played ever more, she grew year upon year
Halting in her perfection, Linden asked her intention
“I am here to lead you to your own comprehension”
Then clearly regarding all spiders’ pretensions
Linden smiled to explain, “I possess my attention”
“And I could play this song further and discover a face
And in the blink of an eye be in no time and no place
Yet pursuit of oneself is its own addiction
And clearly your face represents this affliction”
An awareness of fear creeping into the room
Linden turned his attention to an arachnid that loomed
“He’s followed me here, but to his own wicked home
This library is his, and this elven tome”
But Linden was saved by the chorus of bells
His mind and frame cloaked in a harmony of spells
When an unseen clock chimed the coming of dawn
Linden leaped from his bed like a playful spring fawn
“I possess my attention, even in slumber!
One cannot count on ending a transcendental number
The truth of the self is simple to see
In lifting veils of projection, one is set free.”
Image credit: Sunset in Oia, Santorini (2013), Pedro Szekely.
Inspiration: This borrows heavily from a dream I recorded in 2016.
Primitive Joe 
