LAYERS OF LIFE:

An Exploration of Samaskaric Sheaths

Layers of Life: Many spirits dwell in each being, just as manifold layers exist in onions or trees. Though our surface is obvious, our depths hold mysteries. All living things are time machines and polychronistic pieces of art: each adult contains an adolescent and within that is a far more ancient part.
Many spirits dwell in each soul,
not as a single flame, but a vast symphony,
with onion-like layers, concentric and bright,
and deep tree rings, hidden from sight.

Though our surface displays familiar maps,
to which names, habits, and histories are wrapped,
our interiors contain vast, verdant shores—
vaults of lost whispers and secrets galore,
echoing uncharted designs,
as memories manifest through tangled lines.

All living things are time machines:
polychronistic pieces of art encased in genes
painted, then scraped, then painted anew,
redefining possible meanings of "true."

Within the hard shells of adults easy to find find,
the softer spirits of youths are intertwined,
and beneath that stirs something more ancient still:
a primordial inheritance,
older than language,
older than memory,
older than the self we claim to be.
Ron: (making a sudden, abrasive burp after listening to the poem) This kind of transcendental drivel has been expressed a thousand times already. Why keep raking through the same cold ashes?
Lex: (lingering over a slow sip of herbal tea) Some truths are like prayer bells: they do not exist to be heard once, but to be struck repeatedly so their resonance enters our awareness.
Ron: (with practiced sarcasm) People have to discover “truth” on their own. What we call "truth" is merely a mental construct. Without the a firm scaffolding based on experience, understanding remains on flimsy ground. Isn't that why most preachers are ineffectual? In time, perhaps truth will reveal itself. Yet isn't the notion "we have the truth" itself a enigmatic notion?
Linda: (shrugging lightly, eyes still on the image) Who knows? Time strips away all constructs. Maybe that is the only truth? Eventually, everything completely disappears . . .
Lis: (with an ironic laugh) That makes this entire conversation inconsequential.