How will I know if you come to visit me? How will I recognize your reverie? How can I see that which I do not know I do not see? Come to me. Anyways. Come to me. Anyhow. Help me to find my way, help me to free me now.
 
I wander in the paths of this heavily trodden world. Topsoil tipped over and upside down. Blown in the wind to dirty the faces of the ones who did the dirty deeds to plant their seeds of ignorance. By chance they might have thought there was a better way, but who am I to say? What’s done is done and seems to stay that way. Churned and overturned. Dug deep in blind misery for all to see. To live within. I do not grin, though surely bear it.
 
There is a watchtower up above. It ticks the tock of the eternal clock. Biologically we do its bidding, full moon big, new moon thinning. We think we are wise when we happen to surmise that we are the product of our circadian rhythms, bouncing us from generations past into the babies of today, that get to have their way.  Their way.
 
But we are tranced by circumstance, those which we think caused by happenstance, without a mirrored glance into ourselves.  The living helled. Be that as it may, we’re here to stay, not as dead at 60 as some think to be. That life is a race to some great finish. There’s plenty of time to find your spine that turns you from yellow to gold, coward to bold. I think perhaps we’ve slackened our britches by too full of desire riches, fool’s gold, truth be told. We’re dragged down by the coin in our pockets, wanting it to ring when it means nothing. I am a miser, Look at me!, one says, when he snitches the assets of another man’s casket. Look at me, in my misery, trying to be better than you. I’d steal your loafers, too, if you’d step out of those shoes. And if you were in mine, you’d see I was right, all of the time. Saving my dimes for a rainy day, when no one comes to play.
 
I want to know when you come to visit me, oh Great One of Reverie. Let me wash my tablecloth with the salt of ocean brine. Let me put the fruit of my labour for your savour. All I have is yours, you who made it mine. Let me befriend my enemy, the one who bullies me. I am free to smile again, to make amends, to stop the trend. I am free to be the new, the change in me comes straight from you. Bless this mess, this ugly world, turned upside down by spaded ground, into hearts of triumph where the blossoms never fade.
 
Let me know the earth I sow is smarter than the lot of us who make a fuss to say we know, to till the earth into the dusty winds that blow our horn so loudly we have to screech to sing our praises over its raised beds. I want to learn from you instead. To see your mastery in Sky and Earth and Sea. To know the wonders you bring about, to watch the whale, his massive spout, to grow the forest, naturally, from seed that spreads to seed from what it knows it already needs. Let me be intelligent. A gentle man who lives this land. Let me leave my ignorant self upon a shelf that crumbles with age into rubble, that the forest eats in decomposition and there it dies. While I stride forward, for evermore in your glory. Teach me, Teacher.
 
How will I know when you come to visit me? So I may act with reverie? Today. You come again today. And again, and again.