The spirits have woken
Oh, they slumber no more
Now is the time,
You must confess
The spirits have been quiet
Oh, how they burned through silence
Now is the time,
You must confess
The spirits have gathered
Oh, the gates are open
Now they’re crossing,
You must confess
The spirits have spoken
Oh, their whispers rain down that name
No place to run
You must confess
The spirits are listening
Oh, they cradle your name
No bargaining of weights
You must confess
Insights on atonement
The poem moves in the cadence of ritual, invoking a procession of awakened spirits, open gates, and the weight of unspoken truth. While not bound to any single belief system, it draws quietly from ancient Egyptian imagery (i.e., the soul’s reckoning in the Hall of Ma’at, where no heart escapes the scale) and from Zen sensibilities, where silence burns and the present moment demands full attention. The spirits here are not merely ghosts; they are karmic forces, ancestral memory, and unseen listeners. Echoes of Shinto animism are present: spirits awakened by imbalance, seeking harmony not through punishment, but through confrontation with truth.
This is not a poem about guilt. It is about crossing over to experience the truth of no obscuration, no fear. The truth flows like a river. Its power wears through the coldest stone faces. No one has the endurance or strength to brace against it. No one can contain it. Everything flows. πάντα ῥεῖ (panta rhei).
The poem is an acrostic: the first letters of each line spell the name of someone they harmed, a spirit now awakened by imbalance. The spirits are watching them closely, observing their thoughts, witnessing their choices. If those who harmed do not hear – if they continue in blindness – even the remaining fragments of conscience or redemption will dissolve.
“For to the one who has, more will be given, and from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away.”
~ Matthew 13:12; Mark 4:25; Luke 8:18
Image credit: Fog in a forest, Telemark, Norway, Ernst Vikne (2011).
Primitive Joe 
