No Stranger
We are no strangers here
To the idea of disease,
It’s woven into the fabric
Of our brief lives;
Here and there, pockets
Of hope, like filaments
Of transcendence, making
Our journeys worthwhile.
I do not write for the hopeless –
I cannot. Only
For those who are willing
To go beyond reason.
Why lifetimes of suffering?
Why so much pain? Questions
That go round and round, holding
The quest at arms’ length.
Disease – how to tackle it?
What to prescribe, how to
Intervene? Deceptive smoke-screens
Multiply ad infinitum.
Of course, there are reasons,
Like there is science –
Mathematical formulae attempting
To explain the world away.
There is also cause, and effect,
Closely peering at problems
For solutions. Why not?
Surely this is the way?
And of course, there’s progress –
Overcoming, celebrating
An elated sense of accomplishment,
Causing the heart to sing
Throughout institutions -
For research, break-throughs,
Facilities for the stricken
Incarcerated throng . . .
But I do not speak of this -
These necessary things are
Just so – nothing
More or less than palliative.
Yet beyond familiar science,
Outside, but all-embracing,
Lies a reality that defies
Every known concept to man,
Defies all reasoning,
Defies ‘common sense’,
All known ways of healthcare –
Every vestige of practicality.
Of this reality I now wish to speak:
The new man, Adam Kadmon -
Innate pure consciousness
Of a post-new age era:
Access to universal
Well-being that cannot
Be denied to anyone who
Trusts Life implicitly.
No stranger idea, of course,
To those whose grip on
What they think is real
Becomes tightly solidified!
Loosening hold, even
Ever so slightly, reveals
An infinitely broader health-plan –
Backed by sublime design.
As strangers in a strange land,
We have forfeited every
Right of innocent healthy
Passage, exchanging a birthright
Of immense well-being
For illusions of separation . . .
But the soul awakens softly
To whispers of ancient bloom.
Within this mortal shell,
Surviving on the fresh air
Of regeneration, lies expectant
The spirit of Adam Kadmon.
For aeons he has lain here,
Awaiting this moment –
The heartbeat to which we are called
In the fullness of time.
Male or female, any-
One between - all-inclusive
Demystification, integration
Of shallow identity with
An underwritten guarantee
Of wholeness: soul arousal –
No greater evolution ever
Than this quantum awakening!
Unless I’m mistaken, there is only
This: a call to awaken
The slumbering Self into
Apocalyptic dawn.
Removing the sepals, (apo-
Calypsis), reveals
The eternal bloom of
Ancient youthful delight;
So long in the bud that we,
The flowering of humanity,
Have almost forgotten why
We nurture ourselves thus.
The soul is essentially healthy!
Dis-ease, like darkness,
Is nothing in itself, but only
Delineates lack of light,
A product of mistaken
Inclinations to reject vitality
In favour of a paupers’ substitute –
To handle the rigors of ill-health.
(I do not speak from conjecture,
But from hard-earned mastery,
That oft for me was lain low,
Through years of debilitation).
The study of darkness, however
Thorough, could never disclose
The grandeur of light. Therein lies
The crux of all illusion.
There is a Life-force that transcends
The need to contend. But until
The soul awakens, the beauty
Of humanity must lie in the bud.
(Notwithstanding, the hour approaches
When children of gods shall manifest
As self-fulfilling vibrancies -
With no need of intervention.)
The remedial model of wellness,
Facing the test of resilience,
Sadly fails to produce a single
Autonomous healthy human.
Autonomy lies in stepping outside
The realms of pseudo-science,
Of every institution that binds
A person to a biased idea of salvation.
“Know thyself and nothing in excess”
Has always been the antidote -
For those enlivened to crack the code
Of dependence on instrumentality.
The mentality of mediation
Between self and a higher
Cause is being replaced
By the welfare of sanity,
Replaced by the wisdom to question:
Why study disease, when
Researching health would throw
So much light on redemption?
A healthy vessel of bodymind
Naturally belongs to the redeemed
Heart, whose trauma and guilt are
Done and dusted. Period.
All interventions to save the soul,
All institutions to further the cause,
Each and every shining angel,
Dressed in starch-white lab coat,
Every stethoscoped demi-god,
Or masked operator with knife,
All blue-clad hair-tied darlings,
Or green-clad corridor wheelers,
Every accident and incident,
All acts of random kindness,
Each drop in the ocean of
Humanitarian care – all of it
Rolled up together in a single
Package of mortality – betokens only
The soul’s exquisite way of saying:
“Thank you for being here!”
I do not doubt for an instant
That we are evolved thus for this. But
The dream of a super-healthy world,
Oiled by achievements of man,
Geared up for mass-intervention,
Is nothing more than a gossamer
Fancy! Mankind is not a machine,
But a meadow-flowering delight!
Nothing is required of the masses,
More than to see their holy place -
Their wholesomeness, their innate
Unique certain inheritance:
The right to be here, the right
To be seen and heard, the right
To eat, to work, to enjoy
Every benefit under the happy sun;
A welfare state of interdependence,
Away from the machine, consolidated
In the well-spring of each human
Birthright: the right to be well.
Heal and weal - health,
Wealth and vitality – all are gifts
That arrive unopened for most
Of our delusionary lives.
So, each soul’s task is simple:
To lovingly unwrap their illustrious
Prize. No sanitary system could
Ever displace the joys of unveiling.
Steve Slimm
20/04/2020