After the Setting Sun

The night lulls everyone to sleep

I go to the windy deck to seek out something ancient.

Or, was I called there?

The simple act of opening the portal door onto the platform of the deck, mists my face, nothing more. It is a chilly silence with the hint of a whisper. “Come closer to the edge..”

Like the wooden frame of the ship creaking under the pressure of the water, the ship speaks, directing me to the groans of my own container, moving along through the water as a heavy being.

Groaning. Old. Ancient. Made of bones, a passage from Africa to Brazil

In the middle of the ocean… fruitless death

1.7 million slaves never made it to Brazil from Africa, and can I hear the muffled screams of the dead. I can feel their floating graves underneath the bottom of the sea –so deep- yet anchorless.

This woke me.

Not one voice, but the voices of many… at night, woke me.

They said, “remember this, and take our unborn home with you. No freedom is in death, but a soul-awakened is never alone…”

2 thoughts on “After the Setting Sun

  1. Hey Ka,

    “They said, remember this, and take our unborn home with you. No freedom is in death, but a soul-awakened is never alone…”

    The gravity of your pure soul attracts such tender poetry to compassionate words that cradle a sorrowful echo stirring within the amber bead of time. Indivisibly deep and hauntingly poignant, your post is a tear of light hung amongst glimmering stars.

    It brought to mind many transient thoughts, some soulful and sentimental, others far less so. I have been thinking deeply about nature’s drive to synthesis and unity, and of the Holographic Universe you mentioned when commenting recently: and about life after death (thank you Deepak) and probabilities of reincarnation in transient dimensions, to ideas of equilibrium points in Quantum states (of flowing matter/form) and the effects of an expanding universe upon the notion of linear time. Far to much to consider…but to focus on just one, a question really…on to what substance is memory recorded in the mind when it is itself transient matter. How does a quantum universe retain memory when in a quantum state…how can infinity be mimetic…how does light function as the transmitter and receiver of memory and thought?

    By the very nature of our capricious existence I think we are all uncertain and transient creatures and haunted by the illusion of death. We live, we love, we elapse and sometimes we disappear altogether when our bodies die and return to the cloud of star-dust from whence we came. But that is only the physical reality of our fugacious lives, we are far more than the mote in God’s eye.

    I believe that my spiritual romance with the universe will always remain and that upon physical death my ‘prima material’ will become the building blocks for new forms of creation within other sentient dimensions of existence. I may die and my molecules live on, but so to will a memory of the experience of being ‘me’ persist I hope, held close to the graceful Heart of Gaia.

    I hope your gentle thoughts continue to be distilled into such emotionally centred work. Thank you Ka.


    DN – 18/09/2014

    Ka…I wonder if I may beg an indulgence, and leave a poem of relevance…it’s compelling and beautifully considered, a favourite.

    ~ The Force that Through the Green Fuse Dives the Flower ~ by Dylan Thomas, 1914 – 1953 ~

    The force that through the green fuse drives the flower
    Drives my green age; that blasts the roots of trees
    Is my destroyer.
    And I am dumb to tell the crooked rose
    My youth is bent by the same wintry fever.

    The force that drives the water through the rocks
    Drives my red blood; that dries the mouthing streams
    Turns mine to wax.
    And I am dumb to mouth unto my veins
    How at the mountain spring the same mouth sucks.

    The hand that whirls the water in the pool
    Stirs the quicksand; that ropes the blowing wind
    Hauls my shroud sail.
    And I am dumb to tell the hanging man
    How of my clay is made the hangman’s lime.

    The lips of time leech to the fountain head;
    Love drips and gathers, but the fallen blood
    Shall calm her sores.
    And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind
    How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.

    And I am dumb to tell the lover’s tomb
    How at my sheet goes the same crooked worm.

    ~ From The Poems of Dylan Thomas, published by New Directions ~

    1. Dewin,

      I’m really appreciating your holistic response, from poetic touch to probable universes…

      When I wrote this post, a memory was welling up within me from my time traveling on a ship from South Africa to Brazil (this life). Subsequently, I spent an hour or two last night reading about the worsening Ebola outbreak after writing this post, trying to think of why I was connecting with this energy again.

      On the ship, I was feeling deep grief for the loss of life through the Middle Passage slave trade – yet I was comforted by what I ‘received’ as a message from death itself (the voices of the dead?)? Or was it life? (that’s another line of thought). I do believe that life speaks, if not through life, then it speaks through death.

      Though I could not say definitively, I wonder if this was a past-life up-welling…Again, I’m not really into forming conclusions that collapse the time-space continuum into a fixed reality that limits freedom of choice. Gosh… such a big subject, of which I am no expert.

      “And I am dumb to tell a weather’s wind How time has ticked a heaven round the stars.” I love it…..

      “The Force that Through the Green Fuse drives the Flower;” I need a whole day with just that part. 🙂 It’s a poem all unto itself.

      Thank you, Dewin, I really appreciate your thoughts _/1\_ Namaste & Blessings

Please drop me a petal from your beautiful self and let me know that you visited :)

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