If we, when small, have suffered crippling shocks,
which mean that in our terror we could drown,
demonic fetters bind our minds with locks
and dark satanic mills which grind us down.
For hurtful mem’ries cache their bile from view,
if such are charged with childhood fears and pain;
unless we pierce the baggage we there grew
with something sharp — the toxic dregs to drain.
Those traces from the past, resisting all
attempts at lancing like a pus-filled boil,
must thus be harpooned through the desert sprawl
we bear within us as a pent-up coil.
For when such armour on our hearts is worn,
the link from self to Source is broken — torn.
But when we call for rescue to the Light
which overcomes the forces from the dark,
we will receive once more the gift of sight.
(How far we fell and lost our sacred spark!)
If with those eyes anew we use that blade
to scrutinise ourselves with searing thrusts,
we’ll find those engrams from the past will fade
while all our thoughts and doing readjusts.
The self who is in humbleness contrite
and willing to be on a spear impaled
and scrutinised by pricks of truth and Light,
by messengers divine will be availed.
When God and angels make our vision clear,
then honest self-reflection is that spear!
© Alan Morrison, 2019