unboxed dreams

Apocalypse
I. Impotens


Set among
The towering heights
And dizzying depths
Of the unknown,
All consciousness
Flows out:
Off,
Into the mystery
Surrounding.


II. Navigatio


Sailing
Upon that breeze
Of uncertainty,
Across
The smooth waters
Of that sea
Of enigma.
Gentle ripples
Forming
In the wake
Of the boat:
Distortions of a mystery,
Adulteration
Of the undefined.


III. Elapsi


Escaping the absence
Of clarity.
Retreating
From the notion
Of the unknown.
Running scared
Back through
The iron gates of our mind,
Into our impregnable
Fortresses.
Shivering inside:
Chilled
By the stale air,
Waiting
For nothing,
Something,
Anything.
Besiege:
Held prisoner.
Waiting,
And waiting,
As your mind's walls
Close in,
Stealing your last
Few breaths.
Bringing nearer
Your last thought,
Your last emotion,
Your last look
At the mystery of life.


IV. Omnisciens


Sparkling
And shimmering,
They guard
Over their ancestral domains.
As the millenniums
Pass on,
One star
After another,
Is born.
Shining forth
With their light
Ages old,
They mock us:
Laughing
From their thrones
At the immaturity
Of beings,
Who are born,
Shine,
And extinguished,
Before the birth
Of a star
Is known.
Staring
From light years distant,
They laugh
At the absurdity,
Of our fragile
Existence.


V. Aperti


Lying
In the arms
Of a rising star,
We look out
At the universe
With eyes
Blinded
By neither planetary bias,
Nor
Of human form.
Riding
On the shoulders
Of a distant sun,
We see size
In a new scale.
We see time
In a new measure.
No longer do we try
To capture
Time or distance
In the markings
Or calibrations
Of some instrument,
But we envelope
The sheer immensity,
In our unfolded
Minds.


VI. Restituti


Drifting
Down from the heavens,
Falling to the Earth
Once again.
Our minds
Continue to reel
At the wonders
And mysteries exposed
To our non-existent eyes.
Regaining form,
Regaining mass,
We are pulled back
To the repression
And blindness of Earth,
Where we will forget
The journey,
But remember
The wonders.
And when gazing up,
Upon the heavens,
One's eyes see,
The falling
Of a star,
You will know,
No star has fallen,
But that
Another mind
Has risen.


The Darkness
the sky, harsh
in its grey mood,
hovered over
the tall trees' crowns.
the grey turned into green,
and green into brown,
and as his eyes dropped to the ground,
he regained his mind
and remembered that he was a boy on land,
not a bird in the heavens.


he continued walking,
each step large for a child,
but small for a man.


the path he followed winded among roots
of the magnificent giants.
watching for roots underfoot,
he still managed to view the grandeur
surrounding him,
and as he came to a clearing,
he stopped.


the clearing had the vastness
that exceeded the grasp
of his growing mind,
but the size shrunk in the face
of its surrounding,
including a large, shadow of blackness
that befell land,
where no shadow
should fall.


the form of blackness,
the glow of some strange source
that burned darkness,
instead of light.


he moved,
cautiously around the outer rim
of the clearing,
but the shadows followed.
the patch filled with the absence,
was blocking his journey.
he was confused,
he was afraid,
he wanted to run.
he ran,
straight at the shadow.


his small legs
carried him past the rim,
and into the center of the blackness.
he ran,
and he ran,
but he remained in the center.
he stopped,
and stood motionless,
still in the center.
looking around him,
he tried to spot a patch
of familiar forest,
but his eyes had fallen into blindness:
had returned to the helplessness
of the womb.


he could not see,
and when he walked,
he found no reprieve.
the weight of the blindness
crushed his fragile heart,
and he fell to his knees
and began to cry,
and cry,
and cry.


his eyes opened,
and he was greeted
by the colors
of unknown vibrancy,
and unmatched splendor.
he stood,
and cleared his eyes of crusted tears.


the trees had vanished,
from where he had last seen them,
before his blindness.
instead,
he was surrounded
by the brillance of a clear sky,
and the spectacular vision
of an unending expanse of ocean.
he stood at the edge of a cliff,
looking out
and looking below.
his inner sense told him to beware
and fear the circumstances
in which he found himself,
but his heart was captivated
by the splendor of the sights,
and smells,
and sounds
of this nature.


Journey's do not end
Where they begin.
So start,
Travel,
Discover,
And then finish,
For waiting
Only delays success.
the words slipped from hidden lips
of the black-robed figure
which the boy shockingly discovered,
standing at his side.


"who are you?
an what journey?"
the youth asked,
his voice ravaged
by the tremors of uncertainty,
and the pain of fear.


Follow the path
That your heart sets true,
And at its end
Will be the prize
That is sought.
the voice said,
before the form disappeared.
the boy,
still chilled by the wonder
and the fear
of the experience,
stood puzzled
at the words
of the figure of mystery.


unknowing,
his feet began their journey,
along some undefined path.
the boy found himself descending
down the steep face of the cliff,
as he came closer
and closer to the water.
when his bare feet touched
the wet scratch of the sand,
he felt relieved,
without a sense of why.
he stared out
at the salty, blue horizon,
and the white foam
crashing down
around his feet.


once again,
he lost the gift of sight,
but instead of darkness,
he saw blue,
and he tasted
the burning of salt,
as he struggled to surface:
regain the breath
that had escaped from him.


gasping for breath,
he struggled to remain afloat.
kicking violently,
he let out silent screams for help,
to the unknown helpers
that must be around.
but everyone ignored him,
or no one ignored him:
but no one helped him.


falling one last time,
he let out that last breath
and started to let in
the burning salts
surrounding him.
but as his body
fell towards the depths,
the limp arms shot up,
and as his hands
held out before him,
he seemed to rise:
the waters falling around him.


the great ocean,
the vast sea
dropped around him.
the salt drained
to the surface of the sand,
and as the body recovered,
and his lungs breathed air once more,
his arms dropped
from the position of Moses,
and as he limped up the slope
till the cliff,
as he turned around,
the waters poured back in:
forming the ocean once more.


controlled once more,
his hands reached down,
and he picked up a shell.
the jagged, broken form
was lost in the midst of others
lining the beach,
but this one he picked up.
the shell clamped tightly in his hand,
he turned
and climbed the path
by which he had descended the cliff.
reaching the plateau,
taking one last look
across the ocean,
he turned
and walked inland
towards the forest
lying on the rim of his vision.


he walked,
and he walked.
the distance stretched on forever,
and it took forever
as each step progressed
into another step.


he continued walking,
each step larger than a child's:
the step of a man.


he came to the forest,
he entered.
the journey continued,
and he continued:
now knowing why.
coming to a clearing,
he saw a boy.
the boy lay sleeping upon the ground,
curled up in a lifeless ball
against the cold.


he came close to the child,
knelt,
and place the shell
into the tiny hand
of the child.
he rose,
turned away,
and walked into darkness,
from which could be heard
the faint sounds
of the crashing surf.


An Empty Ocean
Every lonely moment I spend
Slips into a collage
Of similar moments,
And they all fade into blurs.


Living immersed in a hollow sea,
Makes the pressure around
Weigh much more,
And it becomes much easier
To be crushed.


And in that empty ocean,
After the last breath has been stolen,
Nothing is there to save you
From that one-way journey,
Downward.


The Distinguishing of Reality
empty ocean,
hollow sea,
sifting through the divine filter.
being separated by the size
of our hearts,
and the strength
of our desires.


cuddled by an illusory mother,
caressed by an imaginary lover.
the tactile pleasures
of body touching body,
dilude
among the collection of dreams,
fantasies,
and nightmares,
that seem to smear across
that fine line
distinguishing reality,
from illusion.
the seeds
spread across the soil,
as the farmer
of the heavens,
plants his crops.
the seeds are thrown
ever closer,
and as the rains,
and the rays
cast their spells,
more and more
of those seeds
sprout into saplings.


but the field
is too crowded,
as many perish,
and others grow stunted
forever.
the farmer
reduces the stress
by weeding the stunted,
and harvesting the ripe.
but he plants more,
and those not chosen,
now have more competition:
more chances of death.


Picnic of the Minds
Bring to this picnic of the minds:
The sauce
That can bring life
To the death we live,
The spice
That can create the joys
Which sorrow has hung,
The seasonings
That can reap the harvest
From the crop the mind has planted.


Stand Upon the Waters
The crisp curtain
Of chilling winds
Pushed the boat farther
And farther.
Each burst
Of the mighty tempest
Drove the craft
And its passengers
Farther from the tangibility
Of departure.
Out on the waters of anonymity,
One spot
Looks the same
As another.
Without guidance of the pseudo gods
In their Earthly orbits,
One's course is left
To luck
And destiny.


The line of the deck,
And the expanses of sail
Shone back from the surface
Of the liquid mirror.


Reflections upon the water
Edit the reality surrounding,
And replay it
From another perspective.


The image has altered.
Now one views life,
From outside the form of life itself.


The mirror of still water,
Slightly agitated
By the slice of disturbance
The lost boat created,
Reflected back the vessel
Upon which equally lost souls stood,
With the same lack of position,
And the same filtering of hope.


Time poured on.
Estimates can abound of length,
Measured in days,
Minutes,
Or hours,
But concretely
A long lapse of desolation passed,
All underrated
By abstract measurements.


Whether days,
Weeks,
Or months,
The vessel remained
Rooted in the center
Of an endless expanse
Of water.


The world slid below the horizon
As they moved on:
The curve of the planet
Drinking the stretches
Of salty water behind,
And spitting up new oceans
To sail.
A speck upon the horizon,
A tip of a landmass
Feeling out
Into the hostile mysteries
That the wild sea
Held.


Closer and closer
The boat came
To the parcel
Of Earth
Reaching above the oceans.


No city
Sprawled along its shores,
No resorts
Filled its beaches
With sun-burnt tourists.
The land stood untainted
By the hands
Of those
Who did not recognize the soil
Upon which they lived.


The deck of the craft
Filled with the thirsty eyes
Of the famished,
Savoring the unfamiliar taste
Of solid land.
They stood stunned,
Falling into fantasies
Of standing still
And their stomachs
Standing with them.


Silence
As they stared.
Each fell into the primitive depths
Of their being
And revelled
In the exotic pleasures,
That roused every pore
Of their skin,
As the unspoken excitement
That tainted the salty breeze,
Drifted among them.


The boat drew closer,
Nearer to the land
That would bring the climax
Of sensual feelings
To the lusty souls
Of those imprisoned
In one of the sandals
Of Jesus,
As he steps upon the waters.
Cruelly tortured
By the want
Of walking the waters,
Man so craved a chance
That he made a hasty try.
He formed the hulls of boats,
And sailed those very same waters,
Feeling he had achieved
The likeness of Gods,
Only to discover
The prematureness
Of his deification.


There are reasons,
Reasons without explanations,
Why the oceans are oceans
And separate the hospice
Of land.
It is to foil the efforts
Of those
Who would be Gods,
Whom were only born
From the womb,
And not
From the heavens.


The craft neared shore,
And the smells of land
Caused tastes to form
On the hungry palettes:
Memories awash
With the reawakening of a history.


As the craft fell empty,
As those aboard
Ran and swam
Swiftly for land,
The dream of greatness,
And ascension
To the realm of Gods,
Fell behind.


As those who had returned to land
Embraced it
In a warm re-acquaintance,
They embraced as well
The history
Of those who had lived and dreamed
Before them.
They returned to
And remarried
The satisfaction of being disciples,
And,
Except for in the wildest
And faintest of dreams,
Lost the notion
Of becoming Gods.
 Apocalypse
I. Impotens


Set among
The towering heights
And dizzying depths
Of the unknown,
All consciousness
Flows out:
Off,
Into the mystery
Surrounding.


II. Navigatio


Sailing
Upon that breeze
Of uncertainty,
Across
The smooth waters
Of that sea
Of enigma.
Gentle ripples
Forming
In the wake
Of the boat:
Distortions of a mystery,
Adulteration
Of the undefined.


III. Elapsi


Escaping the absence
Of clarity.
Retreating
From the notion
Of the unknown.
Running scared
Back through
The iron gates of our mind,
Into our impregnable
Fortresses.
Shivering inside:
Chilled
By the stale air,
Waiting
For nothing,
Something,
Anything.
Besiege:
Held prisoner.
Waiting,
And waiting,
As your mind's walls
Close in,
Stealing your last
Few breaths.
Bringing nearer
Your last thought,
Your last emotion,
Your last look
At the mystery of life.


IV. Omnisciens


Sparkling
And shimmering,
They guard
Over their ancestral domains.
As the millenniums
Pass on,
One star
After another,
Is born.
Shining forth
With their light
Ages old,
They mock us:
Laughing
From their thrones
At the immaturity
Of beings,
Who are born,
Shine,
And extinguished,
Before the birth
Of a star
Is known.
Staring
From light years distant,
They laugh
At the absurdity,
Of our fragile
Existence.


V. Aperti


Lying
In the arms
Of a rising star,
We look out
At the universe
With eyes
Blinded
By neither planetary bias,
Nor
Of human form.
Riding
On the shoulders
Of a distant sun,
We see size
In a new scale.
We see time
In a new measure.
No longer do we try
To capture
Time or distance
In the markings
Or calibrations
Of some instrument,
But we envelope
The sheer immensity,
In our unfolded
Minds.


VI. Restituti


Drifting
Down from the heavens,
Falling to the Earth
Once again.
Our minds
Continue to reel
At the wonders
And mysteries exposed
To our non-existent eyes.
Regaining form,
Regaining mass,
We are pulled back
To the repression
And blindness of Earth,
Where we will forget
The journey,
But remember
The wonders.
And when gazing up,
Upon the heavens,
One's eyes see,
The falling
Of a star,
You will know,
No star has fallen,
But that
Another mind
Has risen.


The Darkness
the sky, harsh
in its grey mood,
hovered over
the tall trees' crowns.
the grey turned into green,
and green into brown,
and as his eyes dropped to the ground,
he regained his mind
and remembered that he was a boy on land,
not a bird in the heavens.


he continued walking,
each step large for a child,
but small for a man.


the path he followed winded among roots
of the magnificent giants.
watching for roots underfoot,
he still managed to view the grandeur
surrounding him,
and as he came to a clearing,
he stopped.


the clearing had the vastness
that exceeded the grasp
of his growing mind,
but the size shrunk in the face
of its surrounding,
including a large, shadow of blackness
that befell land,
where no shadow
should fall.


the form of blackness,
the glow of some strange source
that burned darkness,
instead of light.


he moved,
cautiously around the outer rim
of the clearing,
but the shadows followed.
the patch filled with the absence,
was blocking his journey.
he was confused,
he was afraid,
he wanted to run.
he ran,
straight at the shadow.


his small legs
carried him past the rim,
and into the center of the blackness.
he ran,
and he ran,
but he remained in the center.
he stopped,
and stood motionless,
still in the center.
looking around him,
he tried to spot a patch
of familiar forest,
but his eyes had fallen into blindness:
had returned to the helplessness
of the womb.


he could not see,
and when he walked,
he found no reprieve.
the weight of the blindness
crushed his fragile heart,
and he fell to his knees
and began to cry,
and cry,
and cry.


his eyes opened,
and he was greeted
by the colors
of unknown vibrancy,
and unmatched splendor.
he stood,
and cleared his eyes of crusted tears.


the trees had vanished,
from where he had last seen them,
before his blindness.
instead,
he was surrounded
by the brillance of a clear sky,
and the spectacular vision
of an unending expanse of ocean.
he stood at the edge of a cliff,
looking out
and looking below.
his inner sense told him to beware
and fear the circumstances
in which he found himself,
but his heart was captivated
by the splendor of the sights,
and smells,
and sounds
of this nature.


Journey's do not end
Where they begin.
So start,
Travel,
Discover,
And then finish,
For waiting
Only delays success.
the words slipped from hidden lips
of the black-robed figure
which the boy shockingly discovered,
standing at his side.


"who are you?
an what journey?"
the youth asked,
his voice ravaged
by the tremors of uncertainty,
and the pain of fear.


Follow the path
That your heart sets true,
And at its end
Will be the prize
That is sought.
the voice said,
before the form disappeared.
the boy,
still chilled by the wonder
and the fear
of the experience,
stood puzzled
at the words
of the figure of mystery.


unknowing,
his feet began their journey,
along some undefined path.
the boy found himself descending
down the steep face of the cliff,
as he came closer
and closer to the water.
when his bare feet touched
the wet scratch of the sand,
he felt relieved,
without a sense of why.
he stared out
at the salty, blue horizon,
and the white foam
crashing down
around his feet.


once again,
he lost the gift of sight,
but instead of darkness,
he saw blue,
and he tasted
the burning of salt,
as he struggled to surface:
regain the breath
that had escaped from him.


gasping for breath,
he struggled to remain afloat.
kicking violently,
he let out silent screams for help,
to the unknown helpers
that must be around.
but everyone ignored him,
or no one ignored him:
but no one helped him.


falling one last time,
he let out that last breath
and started to let in
the burning salts
surrounding him.
but as his body
fell towards the depths,
the limp arms shot up,
and as his hands
held out before him,
he seemed to rise:
the waters falling around him.


the great ocean,
the vast sea
dropped around him.
the salt drained
to the surface of the sand,
and as the body recovered,
and his lungs breathed air once more,
his arms dropped
from the position of Moses,
and as he limped up the slope
till the cliff,
as he turned around,
the waters poured back in:
forming the ocean once more.


controlled once more,
his hands reached down,
and he picked up a shell.
the jagged, broken form
was lost in the midst of others
lining the beach,
but this one he picked up.
the shell clamped tightly in his hand,
he turned
and climbed the path
by which he had descended the cliff.
reaching the plateau,
taking one last look
across the ocean,
he turned
and walked inland
towards the forest
lying on the rim of his vision.


he walked,
and he walked.
the distance stretched on forever,
and it took forever
as each step progressed
into another step.


he continued walking,
each step larger than a child's:
the step of a man.


he came to the forest,
he entered.
the journey continued,
and he continued:
now knowing why.
coming to a clearing,
he saw a boy.
the boy lay sleeping upon the ground,
curled up in a lifeless ball
against the cold.


he came close to the child,
knelt,
and place the shell
into the tiny hand
of the child.
he rose,
turned away,
and walked into darkness,
from which could be heard
the faint sounds
of the crashing surf.


An Empty Ocean
Every lonely moment I spend
Slips into a collage
Of similar moments,
And they all fade into blurs.


Living immersed in a hollow sea,
Makes the pressure around
Weigh much more,
And it becomes much easier
To be crushed.


And in that empty ocean,
After the last breath has been stolen,
Nothing is there to save you
From that one-way journey,
Downward.


The Distinguishing of Reality
empty ocean,
hollow sea,
sifting through the divine filter.
being separated by the size
of our hearts,
and the strength
of our desires.


cuddled by an illusory mother,
caressed by an imaginary lover.
the tactile pleasures
of body touching body,
dilude
among the collection of dreams,
fantasies,
and nightmares,
that seem to smear across
that fine line
distinguishing reality,
from illusion.
the seeds
spread across the soil,
as the farmer
of the heavens,
plants his crops.
the seeds are thrown
ever closer,
and as the rains,
and the rays
cast their spells,
more and more
of those seeds
sprout into saplings.


but the field
is too crowded,
as many perish,
and others grow stunted
forever.
the farmer
reduces the stress
by weeding the stunted,
and harvesting the ripe.
but he plants more,
and those not chosen,
now have more competition:
more chances of death.


Picnic of the Minds
Bring to this picnic of the minds:
The sauce
That can bring life
To the death we live,
The spice
That can create the joys
Which sorrow has hung,
The seasonings
That can reap the harvest
From the crop the mind has planted.


Stand Upon the Waters
The crisp curtain
Of chilling winds
Pushed the boat farther
And farther.
Each burst
Of the mighty tempest
Drove the craft
And its passengers
Farther from the tangibility
Of departure.
Out on the waters of anonymity,
One spot
Looks the same
As another.
Without guidance of the pseudo gods
In their Earthly orbits,
One's course is left
To luck
And destiny.


The line of the deck,
And the expanses of sail
Shone back from the surface
Of the liquid mirror.


Reflections upon the water
Edit the reality surrounding,
And replay it
From another perspective.


The image has altered.
Now one views life,
From outside the form of life itself.


The mirror of still water,
Slightly agitated
By the slice of disturbance
The lost boat created,
Reflected back the vessel
Upon which equally lost souls stood,
With the same lack of position,
And the same filtering of hope.


Time poured on.
Estimates can abound of length,
Measured in days,
Minutes,
Or hours,
But concretely
A long lapse of desolation passed,
All underrated
By abstract measurements.


Whether days,
Weeks,
Or months,
The vessel remained
Rooted in the center
Of an endless expanse
Of water.


The world slid below the horizon
As they moved on:
The curve of the planet
Drinking the stretches
Of salty water behind,
And spitting up new oceans
To sail.
A speck upon the horizon,
A tip of a landmass
Feeling out
Into the hostile mysteries
That the wild sea
Held.


Closer and closer
The boat came
To the parcel
Of Earth
Reaching above the oceans.


No city
Sprawled along its shores,
No resorts
Filled its beaches
With sun-burnt tourists.
The land stood untainted
By the hands
Of those
Who did not recognize the soil
Upon which they lived.


The deck of the craft
Filled with the thirsty eyes
Of the famished,
Savoring the unfamiliar taste
Of solid land.
They stood stunned,
Falling into fantasies
Of standing still
And their stomachs
Standing with them.


Silence
As they stared.
Each fell into the primitive depths
Of their being
And revelled
In the exotic pleasures,
That roused every pore
Of their skin,
As the unspoken excitement
That tainted the salty breeze,
Drifted among them.


The boat drew closer,
Nearer to the land
That would bring the climax
Of sensual feelings
To the lusty souls
Of those imprisoned
In one of the sandals
Of Jesus,
As he steps upon the waters.
Cruelly tortured
By the want
Of walking the waters,
Man so craved a chance
That he made a hasty try.
He formed the hulls of boats,
And sailed those very same waters,
Feeling he had achieved
The likeness of Gods,
Only to discover
The prematureness
Of his deification.


There are reasons,
Reasons without explanations,
Why the oceans are oceans
And separate the hospice
Of land.
It is to foil the efforts
Of those
Who would be Gods,
Whom were only born
From the womb,
And not
From the heavens.


The craft neared shore,
And the smells of land
Caused tastes to form
On the hungry palettes:
Memories awash
With the reawakening of a history.


As the craft fell empty,
As those aboard
Ran and swam
Swiftly for land,
The dream of greatness,
And ascension
To the realm of Gods,
Fell behind.


As those who had returned to land
Embraced it
In a warm re-acquaintance,
They embraced as well
The history
Of those who had lived and dreamed
Before them.
They returned to
And remarried
The satisfaction of being disciples,
And,
Except for in the wildest
And faintest of dreams,
Lost the notion
Of becoming Gods.
unboxed dreams 2
Table of Contents 		Words Never Spoken. Copyright © 1991 by Matte Elsbernd. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission.