I am a course and
weak Self imbibed
with only me.
There is no image
save My image.
There is no soul save
My soul.
I'm refreshed by my
own eye and my own
breeze.
My being radiates its
own oneness with its
Self.
This is the garden
of immortality.
Free from the Manifestation,
abiding in my love
for my Self.
I should tell Bob
that "Baha'u'llah
said that
the highest spiritual
station is to be free
from the oneness with
the Prophet and see
oneself as exalted -
being encompassed
by the love for one's
Self."

Many in this realm get
caught in the thoughts
of others, not listening
to their own voice.
Every guide and guru
cannot stand the one
who is in love with
only himself.
Here there is no
need for others to
hear or follow.
I become the center
actor of my own
movie.
I see the image of
a statue  embodying
my Self.
Yes, we are all one
Self, enthroned in
the highest.
This is the realm of
Self-Authority
where the Manifestation is
equally envious of me.

Every thought of self
inadequacy
is met with the
sparkling beauty
of my Self.

I sought visions;
I sought unific feelings;
I sought insights.
I got visions that churn imagination,
  history, and Gods.
I got unific feelings that made
  my whole body pulse together
  with the world and universe.
I got insights into origins, essentials,
  and outer limits.
All this through silence, and
  I ached.

Then I stared at the light,
  and remembered the darkness.
None of these seemed important
  any more.
The only thing that mattered
  was deed, good deeds.

Call it detachment from senses
  as the Buddha would say.
Call it an impulse to help others.

But all I can really say,
  is that I stared at the light,
  and it was so commonplace now,
  it was even as dust.
And all this inner travel
  and work meant nothing anymore.
How can I serve?

O beauty in my horizon
You look at me like a thousand days
we've spent together, or
longer still.
You take pride in our gaze together.
You are the answer
to my every male instinct.
And there you recline,
as if you are made of starlight,
as if you've swallowed the moon.
Your neck has no point save
regarding me.
You are intent on setting
me aflame with desire for you.
My body aches to keep
its inner mojo.
Yet you snake around
my neck and seep into
my testicles.
You say "this is a test".
"For what?"
"You know" she replies.
"A test for me" she gives a second answer.
"To see if you can come on my star destroyer"
"Where does that lead?" I ask.
"To another time."
"A time when you're free."
Then Christ's neck holds me:
"Can you pray with Me, and stay resolute?"

Sigh.
Another night
that I might not know my pillow.

Those crow's feet
and lines by your smile
tell a million more stories
than a face
smooth and sweet.
Bittersweet wisdom hidden
beneath what it means
to be woman.
yet your eyes take me to court
ruling I'm 5-10 years
still young.
The worn skin on the front
of your neck
the freckles at the top
of your chest.
A million women would ****
to be as thin.
There is something spiritual
about age
that no one can crack
nor dismiss.

Your ******* remind me of S-curves
on a mountain highway.
Like the curve of the windshield of a Lamborghini.
Like the stick shift of a new Corvette.
Your shoulders remind me of the breaking
of a newly frozen ice cube tray.
They are the tops of the pillars
of your skinny arms.
The flash of your blue bikini
takes my mind away from
your secret face.
Its temperature tells of a moist nose
making a puckered upper lip.
I'm reminded of Cranberries songs.
We should've met with your shirt on.
The rim of your head tells of
a hundred men who would swoon.
No fat on you at all.
Would you even care to look at me
for one more moment?
The roses of your eyes are not yet
in full bloom.
Your blonde highlight tips are like
needles on my skin.
Could I even give a hug
that didn't give away my devotion?

blood rush to my inner thighs
tip brushes
light blue sky behind you
deep blue ocean behind you
three curves tell of your waist
and your navel.
as you stand in this shade
eyes like gray clouds
masking their brown color.
"I don't really want you" she says with a sigh.
"You cannot handle me, why tell a lie."
"Most men only dream of me," with
a Kawasaki Ninja in her eye.
To press against her would sooth my nerves.
Hard or soft its all just fantasy.
Her body's arteries and veins so tightly coiled by her skin.
I'm still here after ******:
untouched and unfelt.
I will always be that picture
written in the story of your life.
She will not let me love her.
She just makes me stare.

You look like the blessed Middle East.
Your smile is like 1000 Fatimas.
Your eyes so full and ready to serve humanity.
Jet black hair that portrays the night.
Cream skin like Pistachio ice cream.
Several hundred eyelashes as rays of a dark lit sun.
A nose of a hundred thousand prostrations to God.
To touch your jacket would give off
a mystical scent.
To straighten your tie would be a service to Mother Mary.
Fingers like petals of lillies.
"Hi Chad" you whisper with an ecstatic Hijaz.
Legs forgotten by a million Quranic recitations.
Pious seal of purity.
"I am not the beauty you seek" the black globe of your eye
betrays.
One hundred 'Ali's have circled round me.
Ten Yusif's have proposed.
"I am a fairy tale like no other" you let out
with a diamond glint in your eye
"You and me, we'll make a love that cannot be forgotten."
"I will make you worship at my shrine."
A thousand Husayns cannot handle me.
I am my daddy's little girl.
You must pray five times with me
every day we are together.
You must testify to Muhammad
as the Seal of the Prophets.
"What of the Qaim?" I plead with her.
She replies, "Of that I don't know."
"Then a thousand mirrors of beauty are still shut
to you joon."
"Though you are moonshine of the Twelve Imams,
I must send you on your travels
and leave this page with a sploch."

Understanding is based on holding a malleable space in the mind.
2. Math allows a measure or order.
3. Math is like learning a foreign language - exposure!
4. There is a time to say "I can't" and a time to say "I can".
5. Personal hard work must be activated.
6. There will be a time time to invent, a time to watch, a time to solve problems, and a time to take notes - let them come out of desire.
7. Assumptions slowly transform into comprehension, forgetfulness slowly turns into memory.
8. Math is traveling through all the illusions to come into reality.
9. I will always make markers for my steps.
10. I will always say something about the motions.
11. I will always say something about my capacity.
12. I will always wish to discern qualities.
13. There will always be existential questions.
14. No one will be able to look beyond a good night's sleep, nor be able to see tomorrow.
15. "He" will become the Voice in which you hear math.

P.S. It is the simple math that is hardest to calculate, and not knowing how to solve a problem is the hardest math.