I wrote this poem for a man. He told me his dream, he told me his worries about his child, he told me and I wrote it down in a poem.
A vision? Is it an appearance, is it a dream image?
Is it a mystical behold, to which a predictive ability is assigned? Is it for inspiration or is it actually a Divine revelation?
I had a vision and I long for an explanation. From a father
I see three mountains and they are almost proportional, they are almost the same size in stature.
I see them with you, my son, in a late evening. My paternal embrace, covers your shoulders like a blanket from the cold.
We see three big mountains together and I experience that I love you dearly. I speak to you with a wisdom, which I must hear in amazement.
I wisely address you at a kind of crossroads, when I've actually lost you for a long time I speak to you across the left mountain and about a crowded pot of gold.
About a 100% insured future, provided you keep this left path. You listen, but pretty soon you ask about what we can experience behind the other two mountains.
“That's nothing boy, that's all completely nothing, but unfortunately I can't explain it to you completely.” You get loose from my embrace and you seem happy to take the left mountain.
I am delighted to watch until unfortunately you begin to claim the right mountain. Severely scratched and scratched, you return to me, 'the always waiting father'.
I embrace your shoulders again and resume my plea, not to interrupt and quickly. “The left mountain boy, there you have to be
there is your pot of gold, there it's nice.” Again you are trying to take the recommended path.
Determined, but unfortunately too short you end up taking your legs. The mountain in the middle, knows how to attract your attention almost adventuristically.
And you again know how to avoid your final destination and stretch this path. Dead and time you end up again, you're really going through it.
“I'll never go up a mountain again!”, your words sound very convincing to my ear. “If you want me to go up that left mountain, you just have to carry me.
I'm not going anymore, I'm broken, you don't have to say anything more and don't ask me.
I feel stupid, you were right and I realize there is really nothing behind those mountains, I should have chosen better.
I should have listened, now I should have lost 'everything'.
Now I'm done, I cut it, it's been enough.
The mountains have nothing to offer me and now I feel afraid.
Wear me, maybe there's still hope for me
Bear me dad, SET ME FREE!” “No son, I'm sorry I can't carry you anymore,
unfortunately, you can't ask me. But you know, I'll try to push you, a little push every day, a little bit up that left mountain every day.
And when you finally get to your pot of gold, only then will you realize that I never lied to you and WHO eventually moved me so infinitely and paternal.” by: a Voice of Thoughts

Loading full article...