Our spirits resemble oceans
Where many icebergs float
And volcanic islands sprout
Our knowledge of them is limited
To what our eyes see above the surface
And our feet can only take wild guess at what lies underneath
Sometimes we come to believe our spirit ocean to be static, frozen
But it is not and changes can occur fast
A submarine volcano enters in eruption and forms a new mountain, a new world
Where we had always thought waters were deep
An iceberg drifts toward warmer latitudes
Melting and leaving no trace of its existence
Who are we truly then?
How to know how our spirit ocean will look like at the end of times
When we’ll be entirely in balance with our soul?