Time's Folly.

Entering time, one must take care.
I slip into natural chronology,
at risk of believing what I see.
People and things wash through me,
very little sticks to my bones,
even less to my soul.
Ideas draw me in, take hold,
rearrange my mind,
befuddle my soul's oeuvre,
and my bones weakened, rattle in dusty halls.
All this draws me through a fog,
to the edge of a cave,
looking out to nothing.
Fortunately, I sleep.
As I disconnect from time,
entering the anti-conscious and the metanatural,
those distressing worldly features are decompressed,
and can now slide into my psyche as they are,
denizens of my mind, objects of understanding
and not of time and matter.
Here my seeking roves freely,
culture, natural law, my own meaty shell
are anathema in time,
dragging down my seeking mind,
but here I move and think without walls.
In the moment, the clearness is incomparable.
But as I wake and enter time,
it clouds and fades, and the moment
becomes a dream, and I fall into it all
as the Myth becomes a moment.