The Watchtower

A different take on the search for enlightenment. Taking a mental step back so the I can observe the me, but having to step through fear to get there.

Grey branches in bleak meadows tangle in the moonlight, limbs stretched wide.

Mud lingers on my boots that, weary-footed, barked through rainbow oil-puddle-splashes.

Owl-hoots poured from wretched hollows, bellowing mischievously in freezing air.

“Breathe. Meditate,” My guru voice stamped out fear with loved-up wisdom.

“Mind-stealers will not enter uninvited. Darkness is ignorance’s gloom.”

Grappling with terrors stench, I inhaled peace and breathed out palpitations.

Voices plummeted into view, cackling residually as I became the observer of thought-sounds.

My ego, star-bound, fled.

And I accepted my watchtower post.