Choice Points

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Choice Points

Details: Thursday, 30 October 2025; Written by Eve Moore; Views: 1528486

Choice Points

Funny how Persephone

can visit at odd moments,

and right on time.

She came calling this morn,

sun not yet peeking over the horizon,

sky a pale wash of what

is to come.

Do you see, she asked?

Not quite awake, I faltered

in response.

See, she said.

Eyes still closed, I began

searching for what she

was bringing

to light.

Hades.

"The world" as

we know it—three

dimensions, no more.

Deathly, pestilent, warring.

A land of plenty that is never,

ever enough, never in reach

to our kind, its insatiable

hunger pangs right

outside my door

—should I open it.

See, she pressed.

Heaven.

Leaves of oak, maple, ash,

ablaze with palettes of their deep

true colors, a vivid brilliance unlike

the emeralds they wear when

the sun arcs high.

The warmth of my bed, blankets

still wrapping my form in

soft ample arms.

The rain falling softly,

like the leaves.

The wan half-light

of early morn, seeping

round the edges of the

windows, the doors.

Doors.

And windows...

yes, I see, I exclaimed.

All that has been seen as diametrically

opposed, worlds distant, other and separate,

'realities' hard baked in coerced certitude—

disunity, its history still haunting the recesses

of our collective psyche—are but figments of

imaginings made "real,' lenses of perception

darkened by obsequious conditioning, but

still quite intact. Still able to see

the dimensions of vision

that know no bounds.

That our seeing what we see

is a choice of many hues and tones,

of moment by moment opportunity,

of many more colors than our eyes

can perceive alone, many more

faceted than they can

apprehend.

They require

our willingness

to open our sights

to the biggest

possible

picture.

Libra's air gives

way to Scorpio's

water—a time to

take the balanced,

temperate view of life

engaged as all things being equal,

fair, relatable, into the

inky depths of

feeling

upside

down

in,

under.

As above,

below, as our

mother earth

demonstrates:

our fall to winter

initiated north of

the equator, the light

briefs its stay, no

longer lingers.

Cycles to show

range, to assuage

fears of the unseeable—

bared, open, detectible,

discernible—cycles to reveal

life's perpetual nature

ever taking,

loosing

shape.

Forces beyond

our control, our

ken, but within

reach of awareness,

our fathom, open their

hand to our day-blind

vulnerability.

Offering beauty

amidst the falling,

the succumbing,

the seeding,

this return to

the dark nether

from which to

rise anew.

Here,

to take in these

multifarious worlds

living right where we live,

as we live, over our heads, beneath

our very feet—the greater whole made

by its making, its unmaking

continuously expressing

through prism points

of our view.

Layers

of sightedness

lit from beyond,

beyond seeking

and grasping.

The oculi

birthing

all.

God, and the

devil, in the detail

—the particulate,

motes of dust

catching light,

shadow, in

slants that

meet our

gaze.

Yes, I see.

I see.

With that,

Persephone

withdrew from my

dawning room, but not

before I heard

her say,

rise

now

—shine.

∞|∞

© Photo: Eve Moore Eve Moore ©2025
Eve Moore: Once a professional writer of advertising, I saw the light & it has shown me words of a different nature. And so I take them down & offer them up. And all is well.

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http://www.crystalwind.ca/eve-moore

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—Jimi Hendrix

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