a poem to … forty-one

a poem to fate and destiny, in the light of recent days in the life&death of forty-one …

The elf lord of the South, upon watching the fire dancers prepare for the spirit of the famous ones, let the sadness slide away, a color water is well endowed to receive. Normally one does not see sad-water folk, but the Ceremony for the Dead, when done for a nexus bearer … well that was a something in the light of human history of course, and the nexus folk did seem to be born to bear such burdens, still, water colored itself sad for all the lack of understanding … some many-sighs of troubles flowing from over judging/unknowing/unfindings … disorder of a sorts, needing some music from the first realm, …
the realm of the uncreated and unformed – where Her generation creates from nothing

a skyfull easily, and humans still fancy water just circles around endlessly, instead of being freshly created out of the weight of sorrows borne by fey-folk skyward during the ceremonies of death, no crossing the same, in the halls of the dead, each unique …

humans will swoon in wonder as the veils part more easily, and the bright weavings which surround the nexus bearers – the ones who seem to cause death and woe, just knots tying karmas into roots, in the dark underneath upside down where all are made ready to be received by Her, even the nexus bearers are fore-given, not forgiven, but fore-given even before they choose their roles in the plays of each day …

just as Krishna sang to Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita

wonders in death as well as life

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