i am so weak and small
in my attempt to master my body, my emotions, my thoughts, my perspective
even though i am much stronger, much wiser than i was
i can feel the gap to perfection
there is a journey you can take, through the stargate
(through the pupil, the iris a flaring wormhole, born into a new reality)
to other planets, where there are people much like you and me
and you can go on an adventure, and some good things will happen
and some bad things will happen, you will find trees and ruins
and dangerous plants and harmless people and technology and culture
and you will learn and fix and forget and conclude and break and begin
then you walk back through the gate
and write a mission report
what survives of a dream? where has it come from, and where does it go?
it is very difficult to transmit experience
so much information has to fit through such a tiny passageway
and even if we manage to hear, how can we believe?
it's not every day you receive a note in your own hand
stained by your own blood
that you don't remember writing
once i had a love that nearly destroyed me
pulled into the ocean of ignorance and addiction
a small selfish self-justifying love
that i learned, in disaster, to let free
what is at the end of desire?
what do you find if you follow that thread all the way out?
once i had a dream that i was everyone in succession
lives passing like cuts in a film
falling like acorns down stone steps
threaded through by one line of experience
and it wasn't until years later
that i really started to understand it
why are these things given to me?
if you can go through the fire, you'll come out like gold
there is enough suffering; we don't need to create more
how much of what we see is just an idea we've already had?
how often do we meet reality as it is?
meeting people and texts and experiences
without letting our own little bad copy of the world
get in the way?
i see patterns everywhere, synchronizations
a design at once simple and complex
visible and incomprehensible
there is something moving among us, through us
that we do not understand
it doesn't end the way we do
but it turns and rolls and rumbles and reverberates
and in those waves we are carried, we find ourselves
the spirits within us that comprise our spirit
and the pieces that continue and the one single
sound, the single eye that is everywhere
and between every spacetime wrinkle
carrying, reacting, moving, causing
the Force, the Way, the Being, God
beyond our ideas about self and other
right and wrong, possible and impossible
and reason and intuition and symbols and meaning
simply
is