My Father's House

Amit Goswami says, "The basis of consciousness is not the material world, but the unconscious. And, heaven is the collective unconscious." I have tried to approach this in a poem to see what my own unconscious (the center of creativity) might reveal:

My Father's House
I may tap into it,
as in the deepest well, drawing forth
that which I never saw before--
but carefully, balancing the wisdom
of my fear, against exuberance.

My children swim within the pool
beneath my mind; I do not know them
very well. They act as prompters
when I dare access
holistic mystery that rises
when the gods create.

My little gods!
Unruly as they are,
subservient to consciousness,
will not appear when I may call,
though on the cusp of all that I find beautiful.

Let he who chants the roundelay of madness,
turn the page and listen
to the antiphon of peace.
Let hurricanes subside
in combat with a single breath.
Let tumult die
before the fragrance of a rose,
and joy emerge where sorrow
knows no bounds.

It is an order not of hands,
this fanciful parental flight of refuge,
into a crystal void
where words are vanities,
where sense is like
a brooding spirit hovering
above the waters, yes
a mansion most bizarre
where love alone prevails.
where gods and goddessesgrow strong.

Such spirit residence must have
its downside in the skies,
its light ascending
from a paradise untouchable
beneath a mortal guise.

I know of nothing to explain
a metamorphosis from darkness,
tragedy, and strife.
and scarcely comprehend
that I am signedby resurrection and by life.
~