Waiting in heat I wondered about a wonder,
Of whether I was truly one who could.
Could I, I wondered, really see before?
Before it happened, could it be in my mind?
Our consciousness, not material at all,
Lies in an isolated pond, the sum of man.
Yet in this pond we are each individuals,
The seperation being self awareness.
But the boundries that divide are thin,
And every now and then people leak into people.
Is it just that my walls are thinner,
Or am I dotted with openings?
Our minds are simple devices like every organ,
Designed to process in an utilitarian fashion.
The link between consciousness and expresser,
It is akin to a phone line, one part communicating with the other.
Death destroys one part of the duo,
But does the lack of one mean the demise of the other?
Or does the soul live on after the body,
Waiting to once more find a connection to a body?
The mind stores the memories and knowledge,
If so then the soul would loose that,
And remain only the essence of being.
Have we all lived before,
Will we live again,
Has it always been true?
Man eternal and immortal,
Himself a collection.
The collection stronger than only one,
The sum of desires, hopes and fears,
This collection we call God.
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