A Poem Inspired by 2023 QHHT Sessions, Moving Into The Unknown

By Lori Lines

In this year to come
What shall mark the defining sum?
What change awaits, to rearrange,
All notions held, our selves to exchange?

In moments of quiet solitude,
When we're alone, our thoughts pursued,
Do we search for truths well-known,
Or question anew, to claim our own?

(By their fruit, the trees we discern,
In every lesson, there's wisdom to learn.)

Do we construct labyrinths, seeking to be lost,
In self-exile, wandering paths that exhaust?
I wonder, as we explore vacant rooms,
Softening eyes and voice, within you it looms,
Drawing deeper, still, in introspection's hold.

Remember, you sought this, the Hour of Unmasking,
Inviting the paradoxical, and surreal tasking.
Now, in quiet stillness, cease the constant striving,
As your spirit seeks understanding, and thriving.

Have you contemplated disparities so long,
That sameness appears foreign, all feels wrong?
Have you battled so hard, so tireless, so tight,
That even your freedom now seems a fight?

I applaud those who find their rightful place,
Yet in creating their home, they may misplace,
The ability to soar, to chart their own flight,
Trapped in another's vision, day and night.

Instead of New Year's Resolutions, mere delusions,
Let's pause and reflect, a welcome interlude.
Before projecting further into the vast unknown,
Consider the past's shadow, and seeds sown.

Inaction plays a role in life's grand scheme,
Balancing action and inaction, it would seem.
It's the eternal dance of life and death's embrace,
The harmony of love and fear, in each space.

You reflect upon the self, but look beyond as well,
To hidden truths, beneath the surface you dwell,
Veiled by a thin layer, concealing the core,
A coating obscuring what's at the core's core.

I gaze deep within a muddied well's abyss,
The tomb of memories, where perceptions miss,
Daily, we construe and misconstrue once more,
In every possible way, we misconstrue, that's for sure.

Behind these walls, the solitary guest,
A prisoner of purgatory, in soul's quest,
Healing the wounds from a lifetime's fall,
In this secluded chamber, we confront them all.

The year departed so quickly, it seems,
Our acquaintance fleeting, a fleeting dream.
Is time swift, or is it I who slow the pace,
Resisting the rush, finding my own space?

Nietzsche's camel, weary from bearing the load,
Speaks to his soul, on life's arduous road:
"Awake, stir! I've played the camel's part,
Carrying the weight of worlds, with a heavy heart.

Now, I must shed what once used to be,
And with the worn-out camel, I shall see,
Part of me must die, and so I'm reborn anew,
Beauty is a bird, breaking from its shell, it's true."

This unfolding vastness knows no end,
Yet, each year's calendar, we apprehend.
With little deviation, it seems to persist,
While everything else transforms, persists, and exists.

In the ordinary, the sublime is concealed,
Revealing its secrets, once hidden, now revealed.
Someday, people shall see and comprehend,
The profound essence that lies beyond the bend.

Inaction plays its part in life's grand design,
Balancing action, inaction, a rhythm so fine.
The equilibrium of all that exists,
Love and fear coexist, as life persists.

As we reflect on self and broader schemes,
In this boundless unfolding, where reality teems,
We pause to perceive, to savor the view,
Of all that was, and all that will be, anew.

And when it comes to a Joyous New Year, of course,
Still, the prior year lingers, unwinding its force.
Is any year truly finished or ever won?
A fresh year, another chapter, another run.

***You are my inspiration. Thank you all, with much love and gratitude.***

Lori Lines


© Lori Lines, 2023