Eons of books tangle my hair all those
Words waiting to be read
Is it possible to gather thoughts and meaning
As waves of data
Splattered like paint over the universal arch to
Timelessness where the suns
That pose as stars in trillions of meteoric measures speak to us?
Worm holes and
Gothic towers all colliding in the
Cosmic flow of eternal ice and forever wind
Obsidian glass cracks open the frozen mind demanding
The master sitting in cross-leg wisdom profess to us while
Our inside hollows bite
Will I even listen as I gorge on thought?
The Buddha laughs at tender grass hoppers
Spirit isn't thought
But the essence of translucent light transference integrating all things
Unseen as seen and
All things known as not known
Thought and ego bleed forever and we obediently sit under the ancient rain of it
Catching its ruby sorrow in cupped hands as our own
But It is not
Nor will it will ever be!
Cries the master in silk and burlap scrolls
It's an illusion
A wish
A binding prayer of ignorance and blindness
Hold those trillion suns close to your naked face and let the
Cutting light and flaming ribbon stream
From every portal
Pore and pin prick
Cleanse the black bush scorching white
Bleeding pure
Until your oneness becomes REAL
The egoic embracing mind
For all its stalactite might
Will implode bombastically
Within its own separate cavern
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