The Translucent Mind
This is the way the translucent mind travels,
Through shockwaves of war cries;
Pelted out into the abyss, while standing stark bare, awaiting response.
Echoes back, the call sent out.
Warped and jagged as it bounces off the rock faces and tree limbs encountered.
A mimicked mockery of what was said.
In infancy and loneliness, the translucent mind hears these echoes as new and enchanting.
Finding substance where substance is not.
It's own musings are magnificent and new,
Reflections of them are inspiring and transformative.
The translucent mind incapable of deciphering itself from another, or even the echo of its' own cry.
It finds companionship in the reverberation of the echo,
Failing to see the hollowness of the response.
As the translucent mind grows,
Suspicion harbours in the dwelling of alone.
When it notices its' own nudity and sees nothing but the empty caverns.
It sees the cliff, and realizes that no sound comes from without its' cries.
In silence, it simmers.
Holding breath in vain, waiting for response.
The translucent mind travels as a beacon.
A light house, shining out in rotation.
Only cloud distort its' signal, fog dampen its' reach and sun dull its' message.
For darkness encapsulates the translucent mind as if never touched by Life.
On lookers may admire its' sanctity;
Yet the mind yearns for input and expansion.
So speak of wonders never seen.
Speak of voices never heard.
Feeding essence and echo the same, as if touched or traversed by travellers.
The translucent mind craves affection as the affinity for projection dwindles.
When it has finished satiating its' hunger by the feast of its' own making,
There is nothing left to lay bare.
It is already there.
Fully matured, the translucent mind rests.
Upon Its' crevice, stark and naked, no longer reaching.
It waits.
No longer extending a need outwards, for it has no hunger.
The echo of its random calls, like music, and soothing the only listener.
Perhaps it yodels from time to time,
To not forget the voice it holds.
But hollow shores, now filled wth patience.
This is how the translucent mind accepts.
Not defeat, but no longer wishing to bring about its' own destruction or salvation.
Simply relaxed, upon the weighted bark of the weeping willow.
ElizaBeth ARt
2024
