When I “come up” with something new to write,
Where’s down? And who’s down there just out of sight?
Whose voice is that which whispers to my mind
Giving me what’s unconsciously designed?
I think it is my Self, a deeper part
Of my composite soul, whose hidden art
Reveals a universal mystery
Which common consciousness can barely see.
We all have depths in our continuum
Of consciousness, from which our best thoughts come;
Accessing them, however, takes great care,
Like diving for dark pearls, rich and rare.
The secret’s to relax as you descend,
Opening to what subtler sprites intend.