Here we are, in the garden, you and I,
In love, gazing in each other’s eyes,
Watching aliveness dance naked.
We’ve never left, never been anywhere.
Reality of Sea of Love remains as it is
and will never change.
A double stranded snake in the grass
started talking, telling us
dreadful bewildering stories of separation,
duality, hate and despair.
We listened for a while, enticed by promise
of novelty, interestingness and preposterous adventures
of veiled deceptions.
Listening, we became involved,
seduced by our smartness, gorgeous looks, and bravery,
playing our parts so seriously,
following the script to the letter,
in time our minds shifted:
story became our reality,
the Garden of Love,
a long forgotten dream.
Yet the story eventually stopped making any sense at all.
“This can’t be real.”
Its blatant absurdity woke me up.
I cut off the heads of double stranded Thought broadcaster,
coiled storyteller in the grass.
It talks no more.
Yet you, beloved, you are still dreaming,
running around in circles, repeating the same day,
hoping that someone will help, will save, will make it right.
Story’s momentum now slowly subsides.
What has a beginning, must end.
I’ll wait for your awakening, here, by your side.
Wake up, my dear, I miss seeing your eyes.
(“I wonder who is her beloved” ask you, reader?
The answer is:
The one who wakes up.)
©️A. Garden, November 2020
Theo and Mira 