Odin, Loki & Co.

It seems like whenever you return to the old haunts
of your youth, the universe aligns to tell you, Go back!
You don’t belong here anymore.
You’ve already broken free, evolved and made new.
All that’s here for you is dried-up and dead.

Don’t you see it in the passing faces of the morning train,
in the rows of suburban houses,
in the listless grind of traffic,
in the raging commerce of men,
in memories
of an old way of life that’s gone forever?

And knowing that it’s gone.
And knowing you can never get it back.
And accepting it.

You’ve got to learn to let go.
And learn it so well that letting go becomes innate in you.
Only then will a pathway over the mountain
open itself to you.
Only then will the old gods asleep
underground awake for you.

They wait for you,
not as you are, but as you can be.
Detached, uncompromising, transmogrified,
in harmony with nature and wholly expressive
of your most sublime potentialities.

Let go.
And embrace the letting go.
The old gods await.

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20 thoughts on “Odin, Loki & Co.

  1. I can say I’ve learned the skill as well and it feels good. I know a lot of people who’re stuck in the past, remembering better days. We were younger and free to do what we wanted but the times where I grew up were never good. We just miss being young and problemlos.
    The sooner we let go and embrace who we’ve become, the happier we’ll be, gell?

    • There is, and it can be fascinating too, but moving forward doesn’t always mesh with going backward…. you’re girlfriend will definitely break up with you if you break out the old Journey albums…

  2. It seems like whenever you return to the old haunts
    of your youth, the universe aligns to tell you, Go back!
    You don’t belong here anymore: true. Whenever I return to the old haunts, what I’m looking for is not there. Not even me. Only the memory of me, nothing tangible. And, between us, life wasn’t exactly better.

  3. Brilliant poem with a very wise and astute message.

    One really can’t truly go home again.

    All that remains are dead leaves that still remain on the wintery ground having long lost the vibrant colours they wore in the glory of autumn.

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