I am again at the labyrinth’s entrance.
No one here forces me to enter.
No one is here. I walk alone.
Circling north, south, east, west – all directions,
No direction. Only partially my own path.
That earthy, pleasant scent we all know
but can’t quite describe from rain falling
on dry ground. A word from Greek
“petra” for stone but “ichor” for what
flows in the veins of the gods.
is not very much. Perhaps 21 grams.
Yet, it weighs heavily upon many people.
Energy that we hold within that wants –
Release? To join other souls? An end?
Feeling the connection momentarily – joy; then sorrow.
Illustration to Robert Blair’s The Grave – Soul Hovering over the Body