Brocken Spectre Poem by Etienne Charilaou

In a Brocken Spectre
we glimpse a transfiguration
of ourselves. We are gods
to whom the word of God came.

But the state of the world,
our broken lives, minds,
betoken that we are
gods gone horribly wrong.

How did it all go wrong?
Adam and Eve, a few believe.
Or was it primordial error,
some snare of mind,
that made a tear,
that split The One
into The Many?

It was inevitable, beholden,
necessary.
But the manifold horrors
give me pause.
How could God allow it?
Unless there's more to it,
things I can only see imperfectly.

And now it seems so hard to find
your way back to paradise.
From birth we all seem blind,
and nothing can make us happy
for any length of time.

Some enjoy lives of relative ease;
some poor unfortunates
get more than a taste of hell
in this world.

But I've dwelt enough on that.
Onto things more positive.

From what I've read,
it's all too simple:
stop your thought,
stop your anxiety;
in a flash
you're there - here -
nowhere - home.

Home and free
just be!
just see!
add nothing else