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Writing up and down a riders storm,
Left on the edge of a fashion norm…
Signaling no defeat of humility at this seat,
Or humanity Centered on, or off, two feet.
Retreating within Silence is never wrong.
We might see Qi, while singing the story’s song.
A tool, or toll is unknown until union in separation.
Now here, while still not there, with more intention
To somehow be made clear, with blinking eyes near,
I find my Self appear… and disappear, quite effortlessly.
Not in this game, that’s gotten Even too gamey for wrong.
A feeling kind of rotten with a slow, webbed, rolling along…
Folding double down on this burning house of cards.
It’s a Holy House, not despite, but in light of, all happenings,
Striding out of stranger days, and into a spiraling daze…
Wrestling with none greater than all “I have” “known” as “Me”,
Through thoughts tied in knots, or too complicated,
To ever be contrasted or compared with the I… To Be.
This is not a Heaven, though it IS of IT, and from IT…
It’s Always as close to IT… As IT Never Seems… We Are
Right about to enter IT, If we Believe in IT… as in our Self,
Like we did as we were children, playing TAG… You’re IT!
Its OK if hesitant… as a fox crossing a stream, and gets its tail wet.
Though, Oh, what a relief it’d be, if only for a moment, to share IT, Again,
For it, Still, feels like a sanctuary and a Haven…. In Mind, When Freely Set,
Coming, and going, anywhere blindness sees, as does the days raven.
Questioning an Ageless Folk=lore is a matter of which we Love more…
Free=Will to Love Everyone or No One, in a simple Hello or goodbye.
Real=Eyes Changing, Understanding The Tree, as seasons live and die.
Realize we couldn’t fit how we got here, or why, on a page, or in a book,
As we could never Really Imagine the quantity of infinite energy it took,
For the Quality of a Spirit to arrange every note in this Symphony,
With all of our Moments To Be FREE… in Eternal Synchronicity.
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