He feels the wind wrap itself around him
Enveloping him in shivers; the advance of winter is undeniable
yet his mind ... his mind is elsewhere,
in a valley, a place far away, a distant memory,
and he is listening to the beat of drums close, but far away
He senses the intent there, the summoning in the notes ...
But he is sad, for if he gave the answers they seek
they would refuse to hear his words
for his visage fails to match what they would associate with an ancient necromancer
He is so ordinary, and makes no pretense to be anything other than himself ...
In the autumn meadows, where the leaves fall
A golden acorn lies hidden in the confusion there
It waits for the right hands to lift it free
and the special ears to hear its magical words
One kiss will break the spell
and the storyteller will be free again ...
He can only smile as he sits in the ruins
a perfect break from the soul biting winds
The youth stand and admire, looking around in embarrassment
it is in their eyes, this place, is not what they expected
they did not anticipate it would be so ordinary
Can this be the place of magic that the legends tell?
He watches as they leave disappointed, wandering back down the winding path
into the misty valley below and their ordinary lives
He sits, and breathes, and contemplates
and hears the distant eldritch voices ... presences that refuse to be seen
for the youth are not of the mind they require for communion ...
Modern generations brainwashed and mind controlled
Easily swayed, pushed into dark valleys and a thrilling life of crime
Guilt manifested to hold them at arm lengths from the truth
Indulging in substances they fail to understand
they are lost and the secrets are kept safe ...
There are so few ... now ... he can tell
To few numbers to understand what he has to say
But he is not too concerned, for it is how it is meant to be
the ‘hidden’ wisdom can be revealed in other ways
which will keep his identity hidden
He can then observe without tasting the poisons of recognition
‘Guru’ status is not his objective
Though he knows the call of being ‘True Teacher’ to some will come only too soon
It cannot be averted for too long ...
And, as he wanders slowly down the winding path,
His mind makes its way back to the future, and that legendary hill fades from view
The visitors there unaware his presence was but a projection
A thought form built by his mind ...
He permits a half smile on his face as his consciousness returns to his present time ...
Matthew James circa 2003
