My Self is rooted in a larger city than mine.
My Self is rooted in male comradery.
My Self falls into a group. The group isn't universal for all my traits though.
Thus comradery isn't a universal attribute in this sense.
However, if I feel I need comradery, and I'm not in familiar surroundings, I can shift to a reality of the oneness of humanity, where all share the same home.

Mad, perplexed, or sleepy.
That's when I see me.
My body isn't an image of God, it's more like static on TV.
I am crime, in my prime.
About as rich as a dime.
It is forever mine.
I face darkness in the essence of my look.
No book can make me sparkle,
No knowledge can make me beautiful.

Criminal eyes turned kind.
Why is black and white not gray?
My brow tells me more about me than my eyes.
My soft chin reveals a thin film of true vision.
Like I'm choking on reality.
My lines mingle on my forehead.
Seeing my transgressions make me know who I am, that I am not what I imagine, but what I do.
All the thieving and vandalism truly made me fall from heaven.
Sins against property.

I'm saying "my goodness" when perplexity perfectly meets madness.
I teach myself to nevermind true sadness.
Sad is what I am when I'm searching for me in another man.
A man of good deeds outshines me.
He makes my weak structures safe.
He makes me fear of the kingdom in his eye.
But I didn't see him as a child.
He tried to fix something that he never could.
He doesn't realize that a true Self could be found in darkness.
Yet when compared to recent crimes, I'm as pure as 0.995.
I'll never be as original as old rhymes.
Words need vision behind them.
But I always see the same thing.
I see floaters in my eyes.
What matters is when I recognize me in every part.
I see the good in me and it can't be me.
I can only be my crime, my knowledge of mercy, or the fear of God.
Fear in His Name is not the same as fear of His Self.

If left to nothing, I am ******.
If left to nothing, I am expressive but not intellectual.
If left to nothing, my thoughts make no logical point though.
If left to nothing, my time fills with sleep.
If left to nothing, I work with my hands doing simple things
If left to nothing, I only study what I perceive.
I can only see my Self as a criminal.
The Self hides the thought.
The Self makes a point.
The light shows it's greater than darkness.
My Self tries to copy their brightness.
While I take glory in unkindness.
My Self is joined by God governance.
I'm cast away for hypocrisy.
I'm left to gather intentions, see.
I can never again be the first elect.
I am forced to recollect.
Their fairness makes me their equal.
My spiritual station is with God not the people.
Madness is my true Self.
Victimhood is my true wealth.
Displaced is the eye from my story.
What's left is a body - no glory.
My light itself is lost and perplexed.
These words getting me to the next.
I see someone worse off, I just want to bless.
I see the eyes of the Local Spiritual Assembly.
It's an understanding and not my reality.
I see the moral understanding.
I have almost no share in its standing.
Their light is weaker than darkness
My light is just blindness.
Anger is truth
Perplexity is truth.
Friendship is a lie.
Mercy allows me to know why
Safety comes before playfulness.

Timid eyes.

Perplexity is hidden in head space.
Perplexity is hidden in grace.
Perplexity is hidden in these affirmations.
Perplexity is blinded to worry and manifests fear.
Fear begets courage.
And perplexity hides in that too.
History hides a lot of confusion.
Perplexity is blinded by knowledge.
Perplexity is still hidden in college.
And knowledge is a trained phenomenon.
But training has no skill set to One without a question:
Balking at knowledge because the training does not produce it.
It produces a branch of knowledge that is always incomplete.
Thus, a degree is only a measure of completeness.
The rising of the completeness puts out the fire.
A stammering tongue has no place here.
Let me say something while you check your notes
Passive listener, scratch the back of your head because this wasn't prepared for.
Nice is true to my style.
Conditioned by the miles I've walked.
This is not for your entertainment.
This is about word placement.
Uncovering the person that I am.

Ear worms during zen prove that left to nothing, popular culture will take my attention.
So let them create their music: an evil in the Hadiths of Islam, and a degradation in the Pali Canon.
Music's flames burn away the veins and stupify the mind.
The heart is replaced with straw and the liver is poisoned.

Baha'u'llah said music is lawful as long as it uplifts the spirit.
But I say:
It eats the organs, toxifies the blood.
It makes me forgetful of liberation.
Its words are idols against the Path.
It masks the senses.
It trivializes reason.
It points the disposition into darkness upon darkness.
It deafens the ears.

It lightens the body.
It stammers the sense of smell.
It invades attention and enslaves the mind.
It dries the throat.
It displaces the sense of location.

People sing a song
Put away your ****.
Let's run a race
To see the Master's face.
Wizard with chalk
Seeing stronger than a hawk.
Genius of a deed
A person without greed.

Island unto me
A reason to just be.
Island unto me
A reason to just be.

Does God have a name?
I think it's a shame.
We all wanna talk
Can we even stop?
Books are fun
Living without a gun.
Silence is a key
A key to mystery.

Island unto me
A reason to just be.
Island unto me
a reason to just be.

Reality is the road to truth, truth is the destination of the road.
Understanding is the feet carrying me on the road.
Bliss is the person waiting at the destination.
My feet are mistaken for the road or my feet are mistaken for the person waiting for me.
The road, too, seems like the destination, and I come to believe the person has stopped waiting for me.