I Am So Close, I May Look

A Pen Went Scribbling Along. When It Tried To Write Love, It Broke.

Let The Beloved Be A Hat Pulled Down Firmly On My Head.

Whatever Posessions And Objects Of Its Desires The Lower Self May Obtain, It Hangs On To Them, Refusing To Let Them Go Out Of Greed For More, Or Out Of Fear Of Poverty And Need.

We Are The Fingertips Of Blind Illusion, You Are The Absolute Cause Of Causes.

You Are Not Meant For Crawling, So Don't. You Have Wings. Learn To Use Them And Fly.