Metanoia

The change beyond the mind, is evolution of another kind.

We think the mind a window to see the world, a twisted thought, in convenience curled.

Metanoia is the shift of point of view, when the heart of soul creates the new.

As long as mind divides to understand, true union finds little reverence in this land.

This is good, this bad, this is mine, this is God — and He is far away,  the handicapped mind's design.

At times when love fails and the self within grows thin, hope reaches for a new begin.

Time will stretch the mind to agony, where is the wisdom in this tragedy?

In this sacred moment, the paradigm will challenge the wit,  where you mistook yourself for it.

The mind, a temple, a holy place, need not remain a maze.

Here Metanoia speaks not just as repentance, but draws open the heavy curtains.

It was no good, I must do better, the heart confesses, no longer debtor.

Not a change of heart in place, but a change of true refrase, where good things do themselves through me, by grace.

It is not moral, it is ontological action, like one weeps at a film's tragic satisfaction.

To see clearly, it was never the story of the film, it was the light that made the realm.

We search for Love in the world, not seen, not enough agape, though we thought we were keen.

Some try to reach God by climbing, still joining, and after all these years, still groaning.

A change of mind is not subtle enough, when the thinker's heart remains tough.

The mask must fall by compassion, the Eye through which God sees is ever in fashion.

One does not acquire it, it is inherited, to return to it. 

One does not become enlightened, one remembers the light, and lets the world to be brightened.

The Absolute, hiding in plain sight, waiting for to think beyond the mind, too behold itself remind.

To open the big window bright, to see the Kingdom as promised kind.