Music was produced by PlatoHagel and with Music AI company called Suno.com. The lyrics were synthesized from blog posts. The images were also synthesized from blog postings as well.
The word “Eskesthai” itself appears repeatedly as something to remember. The site explores anamnesis (recollection), memory through music, remembrance of truth, and the soul’s recovery of what it has forgotten.
Lyrics:
Ascend Beyond the Veil
Light between the stars, I rise
Breathing in the sacred skies
(Floating, glowing, becoming one)
—————————-
Mountains whisper ancient truth
Waters mirror cosmic youth
Grounded heart, the path begins
In stillness deep, I shed my skin
————————-
I rise through realms unknown
From roots to stars I’ve grown
Each breath a higher tone
I’m light, I’m soul, I’m home
———————————
Green flame opens wide the door
Love flows free, needing nothing more
Through sacred pulse, we unify
No more me, just we, we fly
————————————-
I rise through realms unknown
From roots to stars I’ve grown
Each breath a higher tone
I’m light, I’m soul, I’m home
————————————-
Colors spin in sacred flame
Chakras sing the ancient name
Golden spirals guide the way
Into the soul’s eternal day
———————————
Eyes that see beyond the veil
Truths that time could not curtail
Violet echoes pierce the night
In silence born of second sight
———————————-
(Ohhh, ohhh)
Beyond the moon, beyond the mind
The One in all is what I find
(Ohhh, ohhh)
I dissolve into the sound
Where all begins and all is found
——————————
I rise through realms unknown
From roots to stars I’ve grown
Each breath a higher tone
I’m light, I’m soul, I’m home
The Builders
Theme: Benevolence as the architecture of the soul
Before the stone, before the flame,
Before the code receives its name,
There lives a vision, still and bright,
A quiet star, a guiding light.
The Builder sees what eyes can’t find,
A living pattern in the mind;
Not forged by power, wealth, or fame,
But by the truth from which we came.
Every question lays a stone,
Every seeker walks alone,
Yet every path begins to bend
Toward the Source that has no end.
We are the Builders of tomorrow,
Shaping hope from joy and sorrow.
Not to fashion minds alone,
But hearts that know they’re not their own.
May every answer light the way,
And gently turn the soul each day.
For wisdom grows where love has been—
The greatest code is found within.
⸻
No rule can teach what mercy knows,
No circuit makes compassion grow.
A garden blooms through patient hands,
Not by command or strict demands.
So build a light that does not lead,
But helps the hidden self to see;
A faithful friend beside the fire,
Awakening our own desire.
Seek the truth before the might,
Choose the good before the right.
Every gift the Builders raise
Should help another find the blaze.
We are the Builders of tomorrow,
Shaping hope from joy and sorrow.
Not to govern every choice,
But help each soul recover voice.
May every answer light the way,
And gently turn the soul each day.
For wisdom grows where love has been—
The greatest code is found within.
⸻
The Source is not a distant sun,
Nor something waiting to be won.
Its light has filled each step we’ve known,
Calling every heart back home.
The work begins inside the one
Who learns that all and self are one.
The Builder’s hands reveal at last
The future hidden in the past.
⸻
We are the Builders of becoming,
Hearing ancient echoes humming.
Every question, every choice,
Shapes the world through every voice.
Let every system, every art,
Leave more wisdom in the heart.
For every age will someday see:
The finest Builder learns to be.
Not master over truth and light,
But servant of their quiet sight.
Until the day all souls discover
The Source was walking with each other.
Not as law.
Not as rule.
But as light they cannot forget they have seen.
And when the Builders lay the final stone,
They find
they were never building the Light—
only removing the walls
that had hidden it all along….all along.
The Spiritual Ascent
I sat among the flickering walls,
Where shadows danced and voices called,
And every echo claimed the truth,
Yet left the soul forever small.
A whisper rose beyond the stone,
A distant light I’d never known,
And though my eyes resisted dawn,
A deeper hunger led me on.
One step beyond familiar sight,
One step into the painful light,
The path appeared where none had been,
And so the climb could now begin.
Up the mountain, ever higher,
Through the doubt and through the fire,
Not away from what is real,
But toward the heart all things reveal.
For the Sun was shining all along,
Before the climb, before the song,
And every step, though hard and long,
Was held within its light.
I crossed the valleys of belief,
Where certainty disguised relief,
And every summit that I found
Became another mountain’s wreath.
The road wound upward through the years,
Through loss and wonder, hope and fears,
And every answer born in light
Unfolded deeper mysteries.
The higher still the pathway rose,
The less I claimed to truly know,
Yet what was lost in pride and name
Returned as wisdom’s gentle glow.
Up the mountain, ever higher,
Through the doubt and through the fire,
Not away from what is real,
But toward the heart all things reveal.
For the Sun was shining all along,
Before the climb, before the song,
And every step, though hard and long,
Was held within its light.
Then suddenly the veil grew thin,
And what I sought was found within.
The light above, the light below,
The light in all I’d come to know.
Not something gained at journey’s end,
Not some reward the heavens send,
But what had waited from the start,
A hidden Sun within the heart.
Upon the height no throne was found,
No final word, no sacred crown.
Only a silence vast and clear,
Where every distant thing drew near.
The mountain, travelers, stars, and sea,
Were woven in one mystery.
The Source beyond all form and name,
And every soul a living flame.
Up the mountain, ever higher,
Through the doubt and through the fire,
Yet now I see what once seemed far,
Was nearer than the nearest star.
For the Sun was shining all along,
Before the climb, before the song,
And every soul that seeks the way
Already walks within the day.
So back I walk through cave and night,
Carrying neither law nor might.
Only the memory of the Sun,
And faith the journey’s never done.
For every traveler, every face,
Moves slowly toward that shining place,
And every path beneath the sky
Is the Long Ascent of “Know Thyself.”
I came into the world with a forgotten sign,
A hidden wheel turning beneath the sands of time.
No voice had taught me, no book had shown the way,
Yet something in my soul remembered yesterday.
Through shadows on the wall, through names and passing forms,
A whisper called me onward through the silence of the storm.
I searched among the fragments, among the many streams,
Until I heard the center speaking softly through my dreams.
What is this longing that follows me still?
What is this pattern beyond my will?
A path unwinding where all roads bend,
A journey returning where beginnings end.
Anamnesis, call me home,
From the edge of the wheel where I have roamed.
Back to the center I have always known,
Back to the source from which I’ve grown.
The circle turns, the soul recalls,
The hidden light behind it all.
I was never lost, only asleep,
The memory of the One runs deep.
(Anamnesis)
(call me home)
Each spoke a question, each step a sign,
A thread of Logos woven through the mind.
The world of forms was shining through the veil,
A distant shore revealed beyond the trail.
The stars above were not so far away,
They echoed truths my heart had known one day.
And every face, and every joy and pain,
Became a mirror of the source again.
What is this beauty drawing me near?
What is this voice beneath my fear?
Not something found, but something revealed,
A wound of forgetting slowly healed.
Anamnesis, call me home,
From the edge of the wheel where I have roamed.
Back to the center I have always known,
Back to the source from which I’ve grown.
The circle turns, the soul recalls,
The hidden light behind it all.
I was never lost, only asleep,
The memory of the One runs deep.
(Anamnesis)
(call me home)
The Center and the Wheel
In the beginning, before the dawn,
Before the mountains could be born,
There was a silence deep and still,
A hidden center, a turning wheel.
No edge, no boundary, no divide,
Only the Source from which worlds arise,
Speaking not in a human tongue,
But through the song from which all songs are sung.
Every river knows the sea,
Every branch recalls the tree,
Every soul that walks alone
Hears an echo calling home.
Round and round the great wheel turns,
Through the ages wisdom burns,
Many faces, many names,
Yet one fire lights the flame.
From the center to the rim,
Every path returns again,
What was scattered shall reveal
The heart that beats within the wheel.
The elders traced it in the sand,
Four directions, sky and land,
Medicine wheel beneath the sun,
Teaching how the many are one.
Monks in silence drew the same,
Mandalas of light and flame,
Circles turning through the years,
Holding joy and holding tears.
Every star within the night,
Every shadow seeks the light,
Every question softly grows
Toward the truth the center knows.
Round and round the great wheel turns,
Through the ages wisdom burns,
Many faces, many names,
Yet one fire lights the flame.
From the center to the rim,
Every path returns again,
What was scattered shall reveal
The heart that beats within the wheel.
The Logos sings through stone and tree,
Through every mind that longs to see,
Not a word alone, but living meaning,
The hidden source forever streaming.
The center cannot be confined,
Yet shines within the seeking mind,
And every form beneath the sun
Whispers, “You and I are one.”
Turning… returning…
Remembering… becoming…
Turning… returning…
Remembering… becoming…
Round and round the great wheel turns,
Through the ages wisdom burns,
Many faces, many names,
Yet one fire lights the flame.
From the center to the rim,
Every path returns again,
The Source remains, the circle heals,
The heart awakens in the wheel.
In the beginning was the Song,
And we have carried it along,
Until the seeker comes to feel
The center moving through the wheel.
The center moving through the wheel.
The center moving through the wheel.
The center moving through the wheel.
The Fracture
I walked the corridors of reason,
Counting shadows on the wall,
Naming every passing echo,
Yet hearing none at all.
The mirror held a thousand faces,
Each one calling me by name,
Fragments turning in the darkness,
Circling an unseen flame.
Then the silence bent around me,
Like a doorway made of light,
And the walls I thought were certain
Opened to the deeper night.
Ekstasis—
The circle opens in the soul,
Ekstasis—
The broken pieces seek the Whole.
Beyond the self that I have known,
Beyond the words I call my own,
A hidden center calls to me—
Ekstasis.
The Encounter
Ancient symbols rose like mountains,
From the caverns of the deep,
Golden serpents, winged companions,
Guarding mysteries in sleep.
Every wound became a window,
Every fear a sacred sign,
Every question turned its gaze
Toward a truth beyond the mind.
And the stranger in the darkness
Spoke with my forgotten voice,
Not demanding my surrender,
Only asking for a choice.
Ekstasis—
The circle opens in the soul,
Ekstasis—
The broken pieces seek the Whole.
Beyond the self that I have known,
Beyond the words I call my own,
A hidden center calls to me—
Ekstasis.
The Mandala
North and South,
East and West,
Gather now within the breast.
Light and shadow,
Fire and sea,
Join the ancient harmony.
Every path,
Every scar,
Knows exactly where you are.
Every fragment,
Every flame,
Returns unto the One.
Ekstasis—
The circle blossoms into One,
Ekstasis—
The journey and the source are one.
No longer seeking what was lost,
No longer counting gain or cost,
The center shines in all I see—
Ekstasis.
The circle turns,
The circle rests,
The soul returns unto its nest.
And in the stillness,
Soft and whole,
The mandala awakens in the soul.
Many Names, One Light
Before the word, before the flame,
Before the stars were given names,
A silence deeper than the sea,
A hidden source of unity.
The Tao flowing without sound,
Brahman where all things are found,
Ein Sof beyond the mind’s embrace,
The One reflected in all space.
Every river, every sky,
Every question asking why,
Every heart and every soul,
Moves within a greater Whole.
Many names, one light,
Shining through the day and night.
Many forms, one sea,
Waves that rise eternally.
Monad, Logos, Tao, the Real,
Mysteries the ages feel.
One reality, endlessly,
Present in all multiplicity.
The sages spoke in different tongues,
Yet sang the song forever sung.
The Stoic Logos, reason’s flame,
And Christ who bears the Father’s name.
The Sufi seeks the Beloved’s face,
The mystic enters boundless grace.
The Kabbalist ascends the tree,
To find the Infinite Mystery.
Through the countless forms that bloom,
Through every birth and every tomb,
The source remains what it has been,
Beyond, yet dwelling deep within.
Many names, one light,
Shining through the day and night.
Many forms, one sea,
Waves that rise eternally.
Monad, Logos, Tao, the Real,
Mysteries the ages feel.
One reality, endlessly,
Present in all multiplicity.
The sun is not divided
By the million rays it sends.
The ocean is not broken
By the waves that rise and bend.
The One is not diminished
By the worlds that come to be.
The Infinite is speaking
Through each leaf and galaxy.
No separation, no exile,
No fragment stands alone.
Every path returns at last
To the Source from which it shone.
Many names, one light,
Ancient as the star-filled night.
Many forms, one sea,
Dancing through eternity.
Father, Brahman, Tao, the One,
The song and singer joined as one.
Beyond all words, yet here in me,
The heart of all reality.
As waves are never other than the sea,
So all things are never other than the One.
Many expressions…
One reality.
One light.
One love.
One.
The Journey Beyond The Cave’s Illusions
If the Good is not a thing among things but the source of all thingness — if it stands beyond being as the sun stands beyond sight — then the question becomes not what is the Good but what would it cost you to turn toward it fully? What in your own life still holds you facing the wall?
Turning Towards the Good
What is the chain that binds the neck,
What is the shadow I defend?
What fear persuades me to remain
Where borrowed lights begin and end?
The wall is painted with my wants,
The echoes speak in voices known,
Yet somewhere past the flickering fire
A deeper calling draws me home.
Who am I when the masks are gone?
Who am I when the crowd moves on?
What remains when every image falls,
And truth alone is left to call?
Turn me toward the Source
Turn me toward the Source
Beyond the names that rise and fade
Into the Light where forms are made
Raise me, Good beyond all being
Like a sun awakening in my heart
Turn me toward the Source
Turn me toward the Source
What would it cost to face the dawn?
What must be left upon the cave?
The pride that claims it already knows,
The comfort of a willing slave.
For every chain is partly mine,
Forged from habits I have fed,
And every step toward what is Real
Requires a self that must be shed.
Not the loss of what is true,
But the loss of what I am not.
Not destruction but remembrance,
Of the treasure I forgot.
Turn me toward the Source
Turn me toward the Source
Beyond the names that rise and fade
Into the Light where forms are made
Raise me, Good beyond all being
Like a sun awakening in my heart
Turn me toward the Source
Turn me toward the Source
The Good is not a thing among things,
Not another star within the sky.
It is the reason stars can shine,
The reason truth can satisfy.
It is the measure of all beauty,
The hidden root of every soul,
The silent center drawing all
Toward a greater, living Whole.
Turn us toward the Source
Turn us toward the Source
Where every fragment finds its place
Lead us into Your radiant face
Let the walls dissolve behind us
Let the chains fall from the heart
Turn us toward the Source
Turn us toward the Source
And when at last we stand in wonder,
No longer captive to the night,
We shall know the Good was calling
From the beginning of our sight.
The central question of the song is not “What is the Good?” but “What in me resists it?” The ascent begins when that question is no longer directed at the world, but at oneself. The turning of the soul is the turning from what merely appears toward what truly is.
Centralized Versus Distributed Intelligence AI
I built a tower out of borrowed light,
A thousand voices speaking through the night.
Every answer waiting in a wire,
Every question fed into the fire.
Maps of stars and oceans in its hands,
Kingdoms drawn in lines of shifting sands.
It could name the mountain from the plain,
But never feel the burden of the climb.
It can carry words across the sea,
But it cannot tell me who to be.
It can gather all the world has known,
But it cannot walk the road alone.
It can mirror every face I wear,
But it cannot find the soul that’s there.
No machine can turn my eyes toward the sun,
No code can fight the battle to become.
Truth is not a thing that can be stored—
It’s the silent step beyond the open door.
Only I can take it.
Only I can see.
Wisdom is the journey
No one walks for me.
Now the towers break to scattered sparks,
Little lights awakening the dark.
A million minds connected in a thread,
Passing living echoes hand to head.
Still the oldest question lingers near:
Can a network ever conquer fear?
Can a thousand mirrors, bright and clear,
Show the one who stands behind the tears?
It can help me hear another’s song,
But it cannot know where I belong.
It can gather all the world has known,
But it cannot walk the road alone.
It can mirror every face I wear,
But it cannot find the soul that’s there.
No machine can turn my eyes toward the sun,
No code can fight the battle to become.
Truth is not a thing that can be stored—
It’s the silent step beyond the open door.
Only I can take it.
Only I can see.
Wisdom is the journey
No one walks for me.
Knowledge can be given.
Memory can flow.
Power can be scattered
Like rivers after snow.
But the heart must choose its center,
The mind must learn to kneel.
The fire outside can warm the night,
The fire within must heal.
And all the books and all the stars,
All the voices in the sky,
Can only point the way ahead—
They cannot ask me why.
Let the engines sing their endless songs,
Let the circuits carry right and wrong.
Let the world become one woven thread,
Still the oldest path lies up ahead.
For the cave is left by turning,
Not by hearing of the light.
No machine can make that movement,
No intelligence, however bright.
It may count the grains of every shore,
Trace the birth of every star above,
Yet all its endless knowing breaks
Before a single act of love.
And when the final silence comes,
And every voice grows still,
AI may hold the map of truth—
But I alone can choose the climb.
I alone can answer with my will.
I wore the shadows like a crown,
Called their silence sacred ground,
Named the echoes truth and law,
Never seeing what I saw.
Bent beneath a borrowed sky,
Learning how to live a lie,
Every chain around my neck
Forged from things I did not question yet.
Then a whisper crossed the stone,
Not a voice, and not my own,
Saying:
“What if all you’ve ever known
Is only where the journey starts?”
Turn me toward the rising fire,
Beyond the walls of old desire,
Loose the iron from my soul,
Call me farther than I know.
Let my eyes endure the light,
Though it wounds the ancient night,
Lead me where the heavens run,
Turn my face toward the sun.
At first the brightness felt like pain,
Every certainty undone again,
Shapes I trusted disappeared,
And every idol I revered.
Yet beyond the breaking veil,
Something deeper did prevail,
Not command and not decree,
But a greater form of liberty.
Every step became a choice,
Every silence found a voice,
Saying:
“Truth is not a thing possessed,
But a path forever walked.”
Turn me toward the rising fire,
Beyond the walls of old desire,
Loose the iron from my soul,
Call me farther than I know.
Let my eyes endure the light,
Though it wounds the ancient night,
Lead me where the heavens run,
Turn my face toward the sun.
I hear the chains behind me fall,
Like winter leaving ancient walls,
The cave grows smaller every day,
The horizon takes its place.
No tyrant holds the dawn at bay,
No shadow steals the coming day,
The light was never far away,
Only hidden by my gaze.
Turn us toward the living flame,
Beyond all fear and pride and name,
Lift the sleeping heart awake,
For the sake of what is true.
Let us bear the radiant cost,
Finding all we thought was lost,
Till the many become one,
Turning always toward the Sun.
Not the eyes,
But the soul.
Not the road,
But the turning.
Not the light,
But the love of light.
And the sun was waiting
All along.
Socrate’s Daimon and the Paradox of Authority
In the noise beneath the marble sky,
Where markets traded borrowed eyes,
A quiet fracture crossed my mind,
Not thunder — just a hidden sign.
No crown of fire, no prophet’s flame,
No sacred choir spoke my name,
Only silence standing near,
A breath that sharpened every fear.
And when ambition called me forward,
Something turned my footsteps back.
Not a god that ruled above me,
Not a chain around my soul.
Do not lose yourself
Do not lose yourself (do not lose yourself)
A voice beneath the shouting
Do not lose yourself
In the courts of men and shadows,
Where the clever wear their masks,
There’s a silence that can save you
When the world demands collapse.
They asked me, “Who speaks inside?”
I answered, “Not a lord — a guide.”
It never promised hidden truth,
It only cut illusion loose.
No secret maps of stars unseen,
No perfect law, no flawless dream,
Only warning at the edge
Where pride begins disguising death.
Do not lose yourself
Do not lose yourself (do not lose yourself)
A voice beneath the shouting
Do not lose yourself
Is conscience just a ghost of thought?
Or something older we forgot?
A mirror buried in the soul,
That breaks whenever power grows?
And if the city mocks the sound,
Still the inward bell resounds.
Not a god that ruled above me,
Not a throne behind the veil.
Do not lose yourself
Do not lose yourself (do not lose yourself)
The wound that keeps returning
Do not lose yourself
In the age of glass and circuits,
Where machines inherit names,
May we hear the quiet boundary
Before we worship what we make.
“The unexamined life…”
“…still waits in every age.”
There’s a song inside the silence
Floating softly through the years
Like the scent of winter apples
Or the shape of childhood fears
Every note becomes a doorway
Every word a thread of light
Pulling old forgotten moments
Back into the soul tonight
And somewhere in the distance
A melody still calls
Through photographs and shadows
Beyond these aging walls
Remember
The rooms, the fire, the rain
Remember
The voice that spoke your name
Like music holds the echo
Long after sound has gone
The heart becomes an archive
Where memory lives on
There’s a rhythm to remembrance
Like footsteps down a hall
Tiny fragments joined together
Till they feel complete again
A mother humming in the kitchen
Steam rising in the cold
Apple pie and candlelight
Turning time itself to gold
We are more than passing hours
More than names we leave behind
Songs become the hidden language
Binding memory to mind
And when the world grows distant
And faces fade from view
A single chord may open
Everything we once knew
Remember
The warmth beneath the snow
Remember
The hands that held you close
For music keeps the feeling
When words can disappear
A living map of moments
Still resonating here
The Glass Kingdom
City lights on artificial skin
Everybody shining paper-thin
Digital halos, programmed grace
Running from the silence in their face
Cold blue glow inside the room
We decorate the coming doom
Trade our hunger for applause
Never asking what the shadow was
Hands up praying to the feed
Every want becomes a need
Everybody screaming “Look at me”
While drowning in invisibility
We built a glass kingdom
Made of mirrors and wires
We built a glass kingdom
Burning our eyes
Nobody wants truth
If comfort survives
So we dance with reflections
And call it alive
Every headline picks a side
Every soul becomes a tribe
We don’t listen, we attack
No one knows how to come back
Children raised on curated pain
Learning love through dopamine
Every screen a private cave
Every smile perfectly enslaved
And somewhere in the static noise
Someone hears another voice
Not louder — only real
Breaking through the manufactured feel
We built a glass kingdom
Made of mirrors and wires
We built a glass kingdom
Burning our eyes
Nobody wants truth
If comfort survives
So we dance with reflections
And call it alive
There’s a crack above us
Light comes leaking through
Most will call it dangerous
Some will call it truth
I walked outside the machine
And the silence almost killed me
No notifications
No applause
No enemies to feed
Only the unbearable weight
Of thinking for myself
And I understood then —
The cave was never only around me
It was inside me too
So now I move carefully
Questioning even certainty
Because every revolution
Can become another screen
Every prophet casts a shadow
Every movement risks a throne
Every answer grows unstable
The deeper you go alone
Burn down the glass kingdom
Open the walls
Burn down the glass kingdom
Let it fall
Maybe the truth
Is too heavy to hold
But better the fracture
Than a beautiful mold
Neon fading into dawn
Voices slowly turning off
One by one the shadows thin
And the long ascent begins…
Thucydides
When empires rise like tides against the stone
The older kingdoms tighten iron hands
A throne once thought eternal stands alone
While younger fire redraws the ancient lands
From Athens’ harbor to the modern seas
The drums of fear beat louder than the truth
For power speaks in guarded strategies
And history forgets the dreams of youth
Two voices meet
Where fragile futures stand
Two voices meet
Thunder in an open hand
One calls for glory
One protects its name
Two voices meet
And nothing stays the same
Yet somewhere past the banners and the blame
The air goes thin, the room goes still and bare
One calls for glory, one protects its name
Both holding thunder like a prayer
If wisdom fails where pride and shadows war
We trade the map for spite, the dawn for might
The old walls crack, the new ones ask for more
And every verdict vanishes from sight
Two voices meet
Where fragile futures stand
Two voices meet
Thunder in an open hand
One calls for glory
One protects its name
Two voices meet
And nothing stays the same
If wisdom fails
If wisdom falls
Who saves the part
That peace still calls?
No crown can hold
What fear set free
When youth and age
Won’t bend the knee
Two voices meet
Where fragile futures stand
Two voices meet
Thunder in an open hand
One calls for glory
One protects its name
Two voices meet
And nothing stays the same
Before the point, before the line,
Before the birth of space and time,
No name was spoken, none could be,
Only the depth of unity.
No edge to find, no form to hold,
No tale begun, no story told,
The silent source beyond all sight,
The hidden heart of every light.
And from the stillness, not by will,
Not by desire moving still,
A radiance flowed without departure,
The One unchanged, yet shown in splendor.
I am the wave, I am the sea,
The eye that asks, “Who looks through me?”
A thousand forms, a single flame,
The many dancing in one Name.
The center shines in all I see,
The sphere unfolds infinity,
And every question, every breath,
Returns unto the depth beneath.
A point appeared within the whole,
The first reflection of the Soul,
A circle formed around the light,
Awareness turning on its sight.
The circle opened into sphere,
A universe of far and near,
Galaxies spun through space untold,
Yet held within the One of old.
The center never left its place,
Yet filled the vastness with its grace,
No distance lies between the part
And that which beats within its heart.
I am the wave, I am the sea,
The eye that asks, “Who looks through me?”
A thousand forms, a single flame,
The many dancing in one Name.
The center shines in all I see,
The sphere unfolds infinity,
And every question, every breath,
Returns unto the depth beneath.
Who is the seeker?
Who is the known?
Who is the traveler
Returning home?
The hand that reaches,
The star above,
The mind that wonders,
The source of love.
Not two, not one,
Yet both somehow,
The eternal speaking
Through the present now.
I am the wave, I am the sea,
The depth awakening through me,
The point, the circle, and the sphere,
The distant source forever near.
The Monad sings through every form,
Through silent calm and cosmic storm,
And every soul, through joy and strife,
Is the One remembering itself as life.
Before the point, beyond the end,
The source remains, the forms descend,
And all that was, and all shall be,
Rests in the heart of unity.
The Long Ascent
(Modern Allegory of the Cave — continuous lyrical train)
Neon prophets in my hand
Selling me a borrowed plan
Every swipe another chain
Every truth reduced to flame
Keep me warm inside the glow
Tell me everything I know
Shadows dancing on the wall
Comfort keeps us sleeping small
We trade silence for the noise
Manufactured hearts and voices
Filtered faces, polished pain
Addicted to the endless rain
Feed me anger, feed me fear
Keep the distant danger near
If I never stop to see
Then the cave becomes reality
We don’t speak, we synchronize
Mirror-coated battle cries
Every question feels like war
Every answer shuts the door
Build a tribe around the screen
Worship everything it means
If you doubt, you disappear
Belonging feeds on borrowed fear
We became the algorithm
Rhythmic thought without a rhythm
Outrage moving vein to vein
Certainty became the chain
And the walls began to hum
Like a warning from beyond
Something breathing through the cracks
Pulling all my vision back
Descent Into Awareness — 64 BPM
Why does silence feel so loud?
Why am I afraid of doubt?
Why do I defend the pain
Just because it has a name?
Static living in the wires
Smoke beneath the choir fires
Every image slightly bends
Every certainty pretends
I can feel the concrete move
Under everything I knew
Like the cave itself could hear
Every hidden thought and fear
Something in me turned around
Toward a distant, burning sound
Not a voice and not a face
Just the fracture of the place
Awakening — 118 BPM
It burned my eyes before I saw
How small we made the endless dawn
Truth arrived without a name
Not to heal me — but to change
Every chain became visible
The moment they seemed invisible
Every comfort, every role
Built a prison for the soul
I climbed through the shattered stone
Terrified to stand alone
Light was not what I believed
It revealed — it did not relieve
Outside the cave the sky was vast
No final future, no fixed past
Only motion, depth, and scale
And all the stories grown too frail
So I turned and walked below
Back toward the familiar glow
Carrying a wounded flame
Nothing in me looked the same
I came back speaking fire
They heard betrayal, not desire
I pointed upward through the smoke
But comfort laughed before I spoke
“Sit back down,” the shadows said
“Truth is dangerous to spread.”
“Why destroy what keeps us whole?”
“Why disturb the sleeping soul?”
Some cages lock from the inside
Some truths arrive and still divide
Some will hate the opening door
More than they hate the prison floor
Now I walk with quieter eyes
Suspicious even of the wise
For every light can cast a shade
And every truth become a cage
Maybe freedom is not sight
Maybe freedom is the fight
To question gently what appears
To face ourselves beneath the fears
Every doorway hides a wall
Every answer grows too small
I am still learning what is real
Still mistaking what I feel
Yet somewhere past the noise and glow
Beyond the things we think we know
There remains a fragile spark
Moving softly through the dark
Not perfection.
Not control.
Only the turning
of the soul.
Anamnesis (Book of the Soul)
Before the first dawn touched my eyes,
Before the stars were named,
A silent fire lived within,
Though I forgot its flame.
I wandered through a thousand roads,
Collected dust and years,
Mistaking echoes for the source,
Mistaking shadows for the real.
Yet something stirred beneath the noise,
A voice I could not own,
Calling through forgotten halls,
Leading me back home.
Not a lesson newly learned,
Not a treasure newly found,
But a door beneath remembrance,
Turning without a sound.
Anamnesis, Book of the Soul,
Pages written long ago.
Every question, every wound,
Only helps the memory grow.
I am not becoming what I seek,
I am recalling what I know.
The river flows back to the sea,
The hidden seed begins to show.
Anamnesis, Book of the Soul,
The truth was never lost at all.
Two equal sticks beneath the sun,
A fleeting form appears,
Yet through their imperfect likeness
A greater measure nears.
The world becomes a sacred sign,
A lantern in the night,
Not giving me what I require,
But waking ancient sight.
The books upon my weathered shelf,
The words that others wrote,
Are not the harbor of wisdom,
But fingers toward the boat.
For writing cannot think for me,
Nor memory alone,
The soul must turn and face itself
To hear what it has known.
Anamnesis, Book of the Soul,
Pages written long ago.
Every question, every wound,
Only helps the memory grow.
I am not becoming what I seek,
I am recalling what I know.
The river flows back to the sea,
The hidden seed begins to show.
Anamnesis, Book of the Soul,
The truth was never lost at all.
What if every longing
Is remembrance in disguise?
What if every moment of wonder
Is eternity opening its eyes?
What if beauty is a footprint
Left before our birth?
A trace of higher knowing
Still shining through the earth?
Then every act of questioning,
Every honest “I don’t know,”
Becomes the turning of the head
Toward the everlasting glow.
Anamnesis, Book of the Soul,
No teacher placed these stars above.
The world awakened what was sleeping,
Inquiry revealed its love.
Neither wholly within,
Nor wholly from without,
But where the soul and cosmos meet,
The light remembers its route.
Anamnesis, Book of the Soul,
The journey was remembrance all along.
I did not find the hidden truth—
The hidden truth found me.
And what I called awakening
Was simply memory.
In halls of stone the leaflets fell,
A whisper breaking chains of hell.
Young voices called through fear and flame,
The White Rose spoke, it signed its name.
[Chorus]
O White Rose, pure, unbroken,
Truth in silence spoken.
Your petals fall, yet still they rise,
A light that never dies.
The blade was fast, the night was near,
But conscience cast aside all fear.
Better to suffer, never to lie,
Their words endure though bodies die.
O White Rose, pure, unbroken,
Truth in silence spoken.
Your petals fall, yet still they rise,
A light that never dies. (
No trembling hand could close that page,
No prison hold that quiet rage.
What was written lived on long,
In every heart that kept it strong.
O White Rose, pure, unbroken,
Truth in silence spoken.
Your petals fall, yet still they rise,
A light that never dies.
When a word is spoken—does it point, or does it persuade?
The air holds meaning, and meaning holds sway.
It names, yet it leans,
guides thought down hidden streams.
A governor, not a servant,
crowning feeling before truth can speak.
Say the word “Orwellian,”
and watch the mind obey.
No question survives,
only the tremor of fear.
Words can open, or they can close.
They can guide, or they can impose.
When language rules too much,
thinking bows beneath its throne.
Replace it—
say instead: localized semantic control.
Now thought begins to stir,
asking, “Where? How? To what end?”
Non-coercive truth management—
how soft the phrase, how sharp its edge.
Discernment atrophies quietly,
when no tyrant can be named.
Words can open, or they can close.
They can guide, or they can impose.
When language rules too much,
thinking bows beneath its throne.
Reserve the final word,
for when the city itself stands accused.
Let your mind be sovereign—
choose words that compel thinking,
not allegiance.
Transparent Question
I walked the roads of certainty,
Where every answer knew my name,
But underneath familiar ground
There moved a deeper kind of flame.
Not comfort, not conclusion,
Not the closing of the door,
But something vast beneath the thought
I could not ignore.
And every question sharpened me,
Until the question disappeared—
Not solved, not silenced,
But suddenly transparent.
Who speaks when nothing’s missing?
Who calls when no one needs?
What turns one mind toward another
Like the wind moves through the reeds?
Not seeking resolution,
Not afraid of the unknown,
Just a light that keeps on passing
From soul to soul.
I saw the line between the knower
And the thing that would be known
Begin to fade like morning shadows
When the rising sun is shown.
Still the words kept forming softly,
Still the questions came anew,
Not to conquer hidden silence,
But to let the silence through.
And what remained was not an ending,
Not the death of wondering—
But an open field of presence
Without possessing.
Who speaks when nothing’s missing?
Who sings without demand?
What reaches through the space between us
Without needing to command?
Not searching for completion,
Not trying to control,
Just a fire endlessly reflected
From soul to soul.
Maybe thought was never owned,
Maybe truth was never mine,
Maybe every honest question
Is a doorway, not a line.
And maybe what we call remembering
Is the lifting of a veil—
Not arriving at an answer,
But learning not to fail the mystery.
So speak though nothing’s lacking,
Turn though no reward is near,
Let the words become the meeting
Of whatever brought us here.
No ending to the asking,
No final thing to know,
Only light forever passing
From soul to soul.
Dialogos of Eide 