I Should Be Suspicious Of What I

Let Soul Speak With The Silent Articulation Of A Face.

How Will You Know The Difficulties Of Being Human, If You Are Always Flying Off To Blue Perfection? Where Will You Plant Your Grief Seeds? Workers Need Ground To Scrape And Hoe, Not The Sky Of Unspecified Desire.

Wings Of Love Long Only To Fly Away From All Directions.

What Was Said To The Rose That Made It Open, Was Said To Me, Here In My Chest.

Not Christian Or Jew Or Muslim, Not Hindu, Buddhist, Sufi, Or Zen. Not Any Religion Or Cultural System. I Am Not From The East Or The West, Not Out Of The Ocean Or Up From The Ground, Not Natural Or Ethereal, Not Composed Of Elements At All. I Do Not Exist, Am Not An Entity In This World Or The Next, Did Not Descend From Adam Or Eve Or Any Origin Story. My Place Is Placeless, A Trace Of The Traceless. Neither Body Or Soul. I Belong To The Beloved, Have Seen The Two Worlds As One And That One Call To And Know, First, Last, Outer, Inner, Only That Breath Breathing Human Being.