ENFOLDED

On a bench, here I sit
Scratching on my cell
Wall, this journal so to
Speak, life is not more
Than that, Virginia Woolf
Mused.  A steady rain
Every day is soggy now
Grey at evening, sunny by
Mid-morning. Our memory
Shadows us, its overhanging
Shading all before our view
Like an unfurling field
Of reflection, we think that
We sense a dividing line
But we are undivided
Seeming estrangement
From our eternal essence
But each pace is another
Step, making our selves
Traveling a destiny
Embedded in eternity.

c) Jan G. Otterstrom F.
    August 26, 2007
    Winter in Costa Rica