to release it
As you don't have to know who you'll meet
When you reach a higher frequency.
On the larger palette
Time and space are mere tools to manipulate,
Like egg tempura or umber fire clay,
To get the desired effect,
a resonance
Of what begins as a shiver,
a need to represent.
And now the canvas is grander
To hold the temples of crystal,
the living buildings of light
And semi-transparent beings in a rainbow
of unimaginable colors.
They have come from the dreamtime, the Sirians,
to show us how it's done.
They were a little too meddlesome
the last time around.
Still they hate themselves for what they has done,
Having to break the show down, and start again,
Giving us, this time, some say in our own
evolution,
As hard to watch, having been through it themselves,
as it must have been,
And as hard to withhold correction, corrected
themselves in ways we can't imagine.
And now that they've come again
At this time when we can finally grow beyond them,
They want us to ask them for help?
When nobody knows
how long it will take
Before they pull the experiment from our hands,
punch up the hypothesis,
do the math,
Draw the conclusions
they all along had planned.
They just can't help themselves
and that's why we love them.
We have met many times like this
before—
They were strangers though
at the dark end of the bar.
But now the lion roars
and we shake hands
As if we didn't know each other,
the one who raised us
Unrecognized, for the pain of being abandoned
was too hard,
As the thing we become to them too similar,
unrecognizable.
