Why pretend that your crazy, souped-up, cyclonic mind is going somewhere?
That your water runs deeper than sages, deeper than the core of earth.
Trust, if you can, in mystics' paths that wind through labyrinths of time.
I'm glad your meditation purrs into Kundalini fireworks up your spine.
Fall back, if you must, on ancient scripts and find Love there.
Lapse into daydreaming, serious funks, or fits of laughter.
Where could you go that could be called pristine?
Holy poets sang the heart songs, that lead us.
But when I am in my head and know it,
I hear the GPS' words: "Recalculating"
Later, a slight ringing in my ears,
Is all the wisdom available.
That your water runs deeper than sages, deeper than the core of earth.
Trust, if you can, in mystics' paths that wind through labyrinths of time.
I'm glad your meditation purrs into Kundalini fireworks up your spine.
Fall back, if you must, on ancient scripts and find Love there.
Lapse into daydreaming, serious funks, or fits of laughter.
Where could you go that could be called pristine?
Holy poets sang the heart songs, that lead us.
But when I am in my head and know it,
I hear the GPS' words: "Recalculating"
Later, a slight ringing in my ears,
Is all the wisdom available.
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