Though the question remains present… 

Cast in the cold light of day, what is “home” but a place to lay one’s head? 

Does the Pilgrim’s Way see bliss in a stagnant glimpse 

or is there something to be said for the comfort of the nest?
 

Because it doesn’t seem so clear to me anymore… 



It feels it’s been so long since I left what I once knew and loved. 


I know it’s but a day but it feels it could be aeons, 

born to die a thousand times and born to live a thousand more, 

as stone and silver, I have been here before. 


I have been here before. 



All that is, is all there was and all that shall become; 

the language of matter writ large. 

All that’s written, all that’s heard; 

all that’s spoken, all that’s word; 

is known thus inherently through all as papyrus. 




And so it was told, and so I told myself; 

and in that instant I knew. 

As above, so below. 



These papyrus limbs, they teach that these arms, they are my own. 

Yet, I lay no claim of ownership to this temporary form.
 

From thought to pen shall all things be written.
 

From void to form shall all things be told. 



Ordo ab Chao 



All that is, is all there was and all that shall become; 

the language of being writ large. 

Semantic keys buried ‘neath the mechanistic fragments 
 

of the workings of the One Thing made manifest. 




So in flesh is all. 

In all we see ourselves 

reflected in the hall of sacred mirrors. 




Who are we to proclaim such division in the workings of the One Thing? 

Who are we to feed the yawning of the fissures with great work to be done? 

So mote it be. 


I become the Man of Papyrus Limbs
 

to do the workings of the one thing. 



It’s all over, my dear. 


I only wish that I could stay, but really, there’s no other way that this could be. 



It’s naught but stone and silver.