Your eyes are clouded beneath a canopy,
your limbs lie in linen, in your mouth one last breath.
Recall the colors of your days, are you satisfied with the path you have tread.
make peace with your person, and resigned to dying, find yourself re-birthed instead.

The sixth night leads me to the bedroom, painted with scenes of the Self in her several stages, the same four walls redecorated and redecorated. For one lifetime witnesses many lives, many bodies worn and shed, personalities developed and discarded, many births and many deaths. Just as Jerusalem's Temple was lost and won and lost again, so too are we forever falling, and redefining, losing and re-finding, a new beginning born with every end.

Nightly I lay my soul to rest here, my breath slows, the world recedes, I experience the end of all, only to dream, and be reborn, burdenless to the morning. The bed a soft cocoon, a womb, a tomb, a room of rejuvenation. These are the four walls of rebirthing — where the bed of birth becomes the bed of death — the drive to end yet begin again.

The six flames lift from the ash like a phoenix, reviving life in her circular stride. Though history be a looping spiral, Redemption lies at the end of the line.



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