I’ve been trapped for an age, locked in my mind.  Living a lie for eons inside.  I only escaped because of a rhyme that referenced the feigning passage of time.  By ripping down walls I broke through the blocks of mind barricades and mental ad hocs.  Each crack in the brick slowly revealed the delusional dreams I took to be real.

I saw demons and deities, deceased and resplendent.  I lived all the lives, but remained independent from the realization of truth that would help me to end the sum of scenarios I didn’t intend.

The answer was simple once I finally burst free from the barrage of illusion that enraptured me. Fully awake since the time that I sat, I understand now where the trail is at.  But before I go, I’ll tell you a tale that speaks of a journey, a lad, and a veil.  It’s not very long, but intricately woven so look carefully if you care to unfold it. 

There once was a boy who wanted to find the meaning of life and depth of his mind.  He sought out a mystic who told of a place deep in the forest and vacant of space.  It was hidden by maya, a magical force, that distracted the seeker away from his course.  If the boy could break through subconscious spells, the truth would be clear.  His soul would be quelled.  

If one is to find this garden of zen, 

their will must be laxed and willing to bend.

The boy followed directions into a dense wood, but quickly grew lost until where he stood held no meaning at all.  He called out in fear and hoped to be found, but silence made clear there was no one around.  Apprehensive at best, he recited the words that spoke of a road split into thirds:  

Enter the woods beyond the dark ridge,

walk down the hill and over the bridge.

When you get to the path that splits into three

take the first right and then you are free.

Trying to travel down other dirt trails

will only end in the illusion of tales.

He’d followed the way the sage told him to go when he got to the curious fork in the road.  But reflecting upon his current position, he wasn’t too sure about his decision.  The air grew foggy and begged him to rest.  Tomorrow he’d make some sense of his quest.

Under a tree, he nestled his back, held it up straight and then let it slack.  When he was sufficiently snug upon the tree’s side, he remembered more wisdom shared by his guide:

If you get lost,

find a tall tree,

sit up straight

and just try to breathe.

One breath at a time,

follow the wave

of air rushing down 

from nose into knave.

Let it reverse

and follow it closely

as it tenderly falls

in effortless motion.

The boy entered a state of subconscious sounds and found himself growing in endless abounds.  Escaping the grasp of existence felt good.  He wanted to feel it as long as could.  And easy as that he fell prey to the veil, got lost in his mind, and lived out tales of teens and tots, moms and lots of cool cats who thought they knew everything about this or that.

He would have gone on living that way, stuck in the lives that made up each play, if it wasn’t for the end of the perfectly planned poem that the mystic has penned to take the boy home:

When you can remember these powerful lines,

break through the spell and open your eyes.

Lift up the veil of life as you know it

and reread the lines first versed by the poet.

For the beginning was ending the beginning of times

that weren’t really there, accept in your minds.

The truth is here, as it always has been,

a sum of scenarios you didn’t intend.