The Gradual Brightening Poem by Daniel Brick

How long have I been journeying? Have I
slept for part of this trek and missed
important signals from others? Have I
let them down, not played my part?
Ahead of me I see a broken ladder.
It was my destination. How will I ascend
to the higher plateaus, or even glimpse
what they offer? Must I live perpetually
in this dark region growing even darker?
Will I never rise high enough to be flooded
by available light? What can my mind tell me?
How will my soul redeem me? Is it for this dead place
I carried so many burdens? I am listening to my heart's
cry for peace and my soul's longing for wholeness.

The Great Unknown is just an abstraction, a toy
of the mind, causing me little unrest. What concerns me
is the darkening web over the everyday rendering
everything and every person hazy, unfocused, unreal.
How from such a crowd can friends and allies step forth?
There is a burden in The Creative Life far heavier
than what I felt when I was young and everyone was
an ally, even a friend, definitely a fellow traveler.
When did such darkness isolate us? How long have
we been strangers, who speak foreign languages?
How long have people used the word "enemy"
to identify neighbors they no longer trust?
Our fortunes have darkened, our cities are
in decline, joie de vivre has no celebrants.

It is not for my soul that I feel such doubts,
night-terrors, ennui and that darkening web
swirling above me with its graceful dance
of menace. It is for my mind I grieve, it needs
such calm to perform its ceremonies of thought.
Will it survive these new truths crowding
its pure space? Already counterfeit truth jostles
with genuine truth. With what inner resource
can I restore a collapsing mind? Is there
some place of exile where my mind can be safe
and weather the storms my soul overcomes
with its perpetual fair weather within?
There is a solitude of the mind which
shelters what gives my being its high delight.

My soul is never vexed, nor does it
resign. It is composed of the strongest
spiritual fibers.It is nourished
by endless Castalian springs, and angels
visit when their missions bring them
nearby. It always listens to the orphic
music of human beings and the stillness
of the Music of the Spheres. What do I fear
for my soul? Nada. My soul still shines
with utmost light, with ever renewing light.
Without the healthy, questioning mind,
soul will sink into any persuasive
redemption story, the weakness of its strength.
My soul must seek its own sweet salvation.

I have always assumed I would behave
with just the right proportions of
pride and humility. This balance I would
achieve with Socrates's aplomb and whatever
else pertains to his bright self. His daemon
still conveys such virtue. And the creative
fire that burns across my being unites body
and soul, heart and mind into one brilliant Self.
Philosophy contains the hidden source of Love:
its power will rescue our bodies from Time's ravages,
its grace will free our souls from bondage.
We will be like Monarch butterflies, who burst
from their cocoons, dry their wings, and then launch
on their long journey toward the Southern Sun.