Friday, March 20, 2009


The angels wrap newborns in unfeeling flesh, blind eyes, deaf ears. They leave an opening to the heart, a misplaced fontanel. Over it they place an operculum of horn like the translucent door of a snail's spiral shell. The soul grows. One day it pushes the operculum aside and crawls out naked into the air and wonders where it came from.

They say the gate of horn is the true gate. The soul crawls from the door of horn in search of truth. The soul crawls from the darkness inside the flesh. From the spiral house of forgetting. From the mindless songs of vegetable growth.

Where did it come from before that, asks the soul. What did the angels make me forget when I was sealed inside the doors of perception, the windows of flesh, the house of forgetting. Where did I come from that I remember


an empty snail shell
rests on a clean gravel path
sounding of ocean

Collection available! Knocking from Inside


Sarah said...

This is lovely, Tiel - beautiful work.

TJ said...

Very insightful writing, almost a meditation in words.
Thanks for sharing...TJ
Here is mine:

GreenishLady said...

How very beautiful! I had to return and read it a second time - slowly, savouring it. And what a great word operculum is! I hadn't encountered it before.

Linda Jacobs said...

It's beautiful all the way through the prose part but just glows at the end with the haiku!

Tumblewords: said...


Rob Kistner said...

This is lovely and mystical as I read it. The house of forgetting -- I find that a captivating line...

Love & War

Beth said...

A beautiful, beautiful post and a lovely meditation on the soul's first journey, yet the question remains: Where do I come from?