Energy Flows
By: Yohanan Gregorius
Tags: Poetry, Gods Presence, Energy, Nature, Universe

Energy Flows

Entities possess and caress me from across the Universe

Photo by Dave Hoefler on Unsplash

Where shall I start? This morning? Last night? Does it matter? Does the structure of the poem about without routine require a beginning and an end?

I didn’t know what it was about when first I was in my idea, pace, think, pace more mode, but then again, inside of course knew;

yet, turns out it’s about so much more than I imagined.

As oft happens with me, the art, being a product of split streams into and out of my split-screens, takes on a life of its own and tells me what to write on its behalf, which is really a metaphoric way for saying that this piece has already been written by my soul in my unconscious mind and is now being revealed to my consciousness.

I woke a little after 00:00, very groggy, no, dissociatively foggy as is my norm these days both as I nod off and as I wake, then it’s sixteen after one when I decide to put feet on the floor.

Shall I break the haze with some HIIT as has smacked so well in days past — Nah, I feel like a walk.

I turn north out the door, it’s quite dark, perhaps my friends are behind clouds, but then my eyes adjust and a warm smile engulfs my face as I begin my stroll along Milky Way

with a bounce in my step energized by whoever is nodding approvingly from another dimension.

My sense of wondrous awe grows with each buoyant step, and then as I turn south for home, POW, the sky is vast and my friend Orion smiles and I get warmer yet as the angels alight me.

Will wonders never cease, I am not alone — the silhouettes of a herd of deer dart across the road perhaps 40 yds yonder, disappearing into the leafless thicket as suddenly as they had appeared to announce Prithvi’s watchful eye.

India, Tamil Nadu, 13th century Sculpture Copper alloy Gift of Anna Bing Arnold (M.70.5.3) South and Southeast Asian Art

I am like a tourist looking up at the lights of Times Square the whole way home and then the silence shifts;

the wind begins to talk to me with the chimes on the house up the hill and with the chatter from the crisp brown leaves that somehow on 23.12.20 still cling to their branches despite the firm breeze;

back inside, inspired by all those that joined me on my jaunt,

AND it's 3 am that means Linstara is here too, hooray!!

Idea, pace, think, time to write. Shoot, MacOS update on iMac still has 26 minutes to go. That’s ok, get laptop…continue the flow

What is the central idea about which I am so moved to wax poetic?

Flow. Go with it. We do not need the structure of routine. That’s what the myopes need. We claustrophobes cannot and will not allow our potential to be limited by false societal-constructs; possessing the eyesight of hawks, we discern from our lofty perches that we always have all the structure we need as provided by the connection between us and everything — we, the stars, the leaves, even the flag on the pole barking from the NW breeze, we are all connected to Source — what more structure could anyone need?

I know from the unique energy signature that just excited my follicles, almost bringing me to tears, that Rama agrees, and so proud of me are all of our creators (flood gates just opened)

YG

Note: While now quite different, an earlier version of this poem entitled The Flow, Poem inspired by my Muse and a 17-minute walk at 2 am under the stars, was published in ILLUMINATION on 12.23.20. That piece was focused on going with the flow; this piece focuses more on the influence that spirits, angels, souls and deities have on, and ever-presence in, us. Everyone has access to god — I am not special (in that way ;) ).

Note, the inspiration for the use of the word “claustrophobes” should be credited to 𝘋𝘪𝘢𝘯𝘢 𝘊. for this from her bio: “𝘚𝘰𝘤𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘺 𝘵𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘧𝘪𝘵 𝘢 𝘮𝘰𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘐’𝘮 𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘤.”