The view of the other side,
Always appears darkest,
When the sun,
The inescapable bearer of appearances
Is staring you in the face.
The bright images behind you,
The reminder of everything familiar,
Seem warm and comfortable.
The shore beyond the water,
Enveloped in shadows,
Is unfamiliar, less inviting,
And usually unknown.

Few choose to cross,
To see the world on the other-side.
Preferring the comforts of the known,
The other world is simply a scenic vista.

But the waters of the lake,
Now thought of as separating,
Were once the pathways,
By which the old and new met.
It's form:
Held by the earth,
Moved by the wind,
Illuminated by the sun.
Becomes a means,
Of bringing to life,
All who choose to cross it.

Once crossed, the landscape,
The people,
The whole way of being
Appears foreign and odd,
Until we turn,
And look back,
To our own original far off shore.

And now,
Like the ancient ones,
We see the meeting of the old,
And the new.

Because once we venture,
Onto the shore of darkness,
We turn and find,
The sun has our back.

And gazing
To our original shore,
We see it fully,
For the beautiful,
Landscape,
It now is.

Illuminated fully
We now see
How the sun
Illuminates both sides
But only
When
We dare
To risk
To meet
The place
And the people
Who
Live
On the other side
Of the water.

by Michael D'Aleo June 5, 2013