There is no change,
only illusion,
all of this human world dreamed,
like the invented walls of a haunted house,
strobe light flicking to disorient,
music so loud you can no longer hear
the voice in you heart that whispers,
All is well. You are safe. All is well.
The lines at your eyes
are only your imagination,
maps of the tears you have cried,
and the joy that you’ve laughed,
and the times you’ve thought that love was lost
when, in fact, love is all there is.
There is no change,
and no separation.
There is nothing and nothing is everything,
spinning globe like polished marble
in the palm of your hand;
the land you walk that you seek to destroy,
the sun burning out as you keep on birthing.
There is only this walking, backward and forward,
newness, oldness, death.
And there is no death,
only survival;
no purpose but the need to sing
a song that lives in the clanking chambers of your heart,
heart unwrapped and cracked like candy,
a song that sounds like rain and fire.
There is no change,
only a slipping
from one veiled room into another.
Posted on 8/6/2007 7:51:37 AM
