Poem: The Sea of Mortality

To live is the rarest thing in the world. Most people exist, that is all. — Oscar Wilde

Our body-vessel carries our spirit

Atop the crests and troughs of time

The vast cerulean sea of mortality

Challenges convictions and shatters delusions

The fabric of ephemeral awareness

Propels the seeker ever-onward

Vigilant eyes and resolute hands

Play out the silver cord connecting body and soul

The golden net of consciousness

Drifts along the frothing surface

Before submerging into the wine dark depths

Driven along by the undercurrents of experience

Versions of reality are gathered

Information picked through

Agreeable morsels consumed

And the distasteful discarded

The undiscovered country looms at the end

The fog of ignorance dissipates

Arriving on the other shore

We step into the dewy dawn of eternity