What more than a head and body?
What more than a room?
What more than staring eyes?
Do they ever pierce through?
The molecules of the things in here spark no new sense to me.
Nor outside taking a smoke.
There has got to be a word for this.
Not boredom, not austere.
Not glum, not shade.
Lukewarm light, maybe.
Noble stare of the formless mind, perhaps.
Miser, hopefully not.
Forgetful, of the world though.
Hopeful, no, a little more resigned.
A frequency? Could be.
The loser, the creative?
The inventor, the wannabe?
Expectant, too intense.
Drifting on the hard edge of the mind.
Why can't a fish bite?
Why not one?
I'm a doomed fisherman with none.
No flower has vloomed, not an exceptional one.
How do forms collectively merge into one, though separate I see?
I'll explore this novelty.
Blind to multiplicity things become one.
What price do I pay for collectivity?
Look at the Earth so together, so one.
Yet how little I can relate to Her.
I see a collection of rooms, a collection of houses, a collection of cars and businesses.
Collection of dishes, a collection of cash and credit receipts.
This is the minor Earth I see.
A collection of esteem's, a collection of words, thoughts, and things.
Nothing like iron-hard duty to break apart the day.

O naked breast, what do you have with me?
You're a picture taken from another camera see.
Though your smooth skin entices.
Though your areolas are a museum of love.
Though your hair is long,
Though your eyes are wide.
Though your vaginal lips hide a salty sea.
Though I mistake my sweaty smell for thee.
You cannot have me.
When will my lover stop showing me her image?
I just want to explore reality.
Why reality so sensual?
Why not matter-of-factual?
Why not in layers of languages unknown?
Instead, so macrocosmically.
Why so lovely?

She says, "Chad, **** me hard."
She puts her hands on my shoulders and slips on to my *******.
She bangs herself while she thinks of me.
She knocks on my front door and disrobes in the entryway.
I cup her ******* with my hands as I **** her from behind.
Our rocking motion ebbs and flows.
I kiss her neck as she pulls back her hair.
My lips slowly go down her shoulders onto her chest and I taste her salty skin
We walk through a forest in daylight hand in hand.
We bicycle to a coffee shop together and sit down at a booth with our warm mugs.
Then I read this poem to her.
The words dance in her receivers, she says "thank you".
Then she walks away by herself
With her memory of us together.
Knowing we will meet again.

I am the salivic twinkle in the eye.
I am the loss of vision when I look at a light.
I am the placement of a thing now, only put in my past, and played in my future.
I am the thing there now, that I placed in the past, and will leave there for the future.
I am too many to count
I am too dark to describe.
I am the colorful shades and lines of the inner eye perceiving my physical body.
Physical isn't quite right.
More like eternal-like being.
More like eternal-like spleen.
"Me" is so far out,
I don't know what this body is here before me.
What do these clothes cover?
Asymmetric from the center out.
Saying this like I gave humans life, made them walk upright.
I am the multichrome of closed eyes in a lit room.
I am faux wood.
I am that thing from the past, placed in the now, and still doesn't understand it's creator.
I am the question "why" which was never meant to be answered.
I am realizing those who are sanctified in their breath.
I am nerve meets bone meets skin meets hair.
But all in one form, I can't see how it happens.
I am what my eye looks like without seeing it, just imagining it.
"I am what I am" when I ask this question.
Sort of a mix of shape, mind, and hue.
Or is it head, line, and imagined body?
Does my hand touch my skull? Then is the hair and skin something unknown or forgotten?
What comes of the thought that is unrecognized during contemplation?
Are these really the bait for the goldfish in the mind's pool?
"Oh no, what am I going to do?" as a "bad" trip shortens my view.
The bone dry feeling of the fear of God, crushing every tendril and way that once carried me along merrily.
"What if I lose God by taking too much nutmeg?"
"You can't (or shouldn't) do that" a voice whispers to both losing God parts and taking too much nutmeg.
Now I'm contented and thoughts will no longer emerge from the pool.
So I must dive into sleep.
Good night.

I am like a coiled nerve made of hair.
I am yellow-green hue glowing here.
I am the determination of Superman's eye.
I am a planet in the sky.
I am the top-back of head pulled stiff.
I am gray shapes and shades of shadows and stuff.
I am a shape seen as a child.
I am a texture soft and mild.
I am a heart that wants another.
I am her crimson, her purple, her blue.
I want it all to make love with you.
I am the pupil of her eye.
How much I want to feel her skin.
I want to kiss her chin.
I want this all sanctified from place and time.
I want her to mesmerize my spine.
I want to hold her in my mind
Like beholding a diamond as mine.
I want to see her eyes glow.
I want to see her all bundled up in the snow.
I want to ram my ***** down her pantry.
I want to hold her hips as it gets juicy.
I want to hear her moan as I *******.
I want to make her ***** and frustrate.
How many times her beauty made me shed a tear.
How many times I want to hold her dear.
She makes my will jello.
She makes time slow.
Is it really time wasted to entertain her beauty?
To think of her naked *** so creamy?
I am this woman that won't leave my vision.
I feel her esteem's syncopation.
Yes, with this I get high on lust.
I am this shade that is in and around my head.
My brow is as an umbrella or the folliage of a tree,
While my jaw is the ground where I sit and see.
My crown is the sun beeming down on all this.
I never get to fully see what heated spirit can be.

"Someone at school was bullying me."
Well Baha'u'llah says that God loves the sighs of the oppressed more than anything else.
"Why?"
Because it means we are being kind and not trying to take an eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.
Rather we forgive and suffer through oppression.
Thus, God will vindicate us either in this world or the next.
For Baha'u'llah also said that the paradise for the patient is the only paradise without limitation.
Thus, we sigh, we wait, we suffer.

Wisdom has always ruled the cosmos.
No sword is sharper than wisdom.
Good intentions cannot simply come forward,
Or progress sideways,
But must be placed with correct x,y, & z coordinates.
Not only that, but it must be met with a receptive person
for wisdom's fruit is sincerity, kindness, and tact.
What comes forward otherwise is met by fools.
All undertakings depend not on "wise-dumb" but wisdom.
How many a silence left a seed unnourished and how much has speaking killed the seed.
How many an act has made me a fool.
How many an act has made me a child of God.
How few an act has made me seem wise beyond my years.

"Why do I have to settle down?"
The point is not to introduce into sitting a feeling or thought pattern from previous sitting.
Instead, to observe, with as little change in the body's condition, the thoughts, feelings, visions, and motions of energy.
"Why can't I just sit back in a chair?"
If so, the point in meditation will revolve around getting more and more comfortable.
You will adjust your body again and again to reach for comfort.
When you want to put a statue of a meditating figure in a home, do you want a statue of someone laying back in a chair meditating?
There is no cultivation of effort in sitting back
Sure sometimes my back needs rest.
That's fine.
"But meditation isn't supposed to use effort."
Whoever told you that doesn't understand what effort really is.
There are only degrees of effort.
All creation is pulled and pushed by gravity forces, every thought produces a vibration that must overcome this gravitation.
These people say "introduce the mantra as easily as these thoughts freely come to us."
That is fine, but that is effort in my opinion.
Silence within requires the least effort, yet still energy must have effort so as not to go to sleep.
For meditation, I think, is being awake, and awakening...
From our environment and our normal self, to reach a greater Self.
If anyone could reach a greater Self without effort, everyone would be as a god or goddess.
If you want to practice your mantra and sit back and relax, that's fine.
It will get you there.
I used to do that and be that
But my personal meditation is different.

You have come with the same face of falsity.
Bearing the heart of the Holy Spirit.
Declaring: A New Day has come.
What is your name O Messenger most skillful?
Where can we meet on this Earth?

After resigning myself, He made reply:
I speak words like you, yet the import is more dire: "Man is One, God is One, and all the religions agree. If we have these three onenesses, we'll have world unity."
More than this I'm not able to provide until 2823 AD.

An hour later I was tasked with the conflicting divines. I made reply: there are degrees of literality and esotericism in many hues and frequency levels and they can be seen in this way as there are many tones in a Melody or colors in a painting. So join in the music and art, celebrating unity in diversity.  What more could show our unity than peace, love, and kindness toward all?

Next, those weary of such words were not moved, and I adjusted my tone: see with your own eyes, hear with your own ears, feel with your own bones. I let you decide if these words are true or sincere.

"I can't focus on what you told me to."
You don't need to focus to meditate.
Simply hold your head up and observe the barrage and motions of feelings and thoughts.
Now you are sitting
This is good.
"I forget to observe and go off on a thought."
That is fine.
Once you notice you've gone off on a thought or feeling,
Go back to observing them.
"Sometimes I want to act on my thought."
Then you can either act on it later and sit and observe it further, write it down, or you can act on it.
Then come back to sitting.

"How do I not get bored doing meditation?"
The 22 year-old said with a moan.
How do you feel when a boyfriend holds you close?
Go to that place.
How do you feel when your mom holds you tenderly?
Go to that place.
How did you feel when your dad finally came home from work?
Go to that place.
Be in the place that is dear, that no one can replace, the place that is sacred.

"How do you meditate daddy?"
Meditation is hiding how I meditate even from my own pen.
You may observe me meditating and learn that way.

"Why do people do impure things?"
Because what is pure is disputed.
Impurity often takes the form of beauty or passion that enlivens my life
Placing the special in heart
That was once an empty lot.
"So why is it called impure?"
Because beauty and passion, like other things, can cross the line of moderation
And can take the forms of
Betterment away if carried
Into excess.
Thus, it is not so much that
There is impurity as there is extremism.
This can shape a life into one
That has stopped or not begun
Any search for the depths of life.
It is not so much that there
May be impurity
But the lack of connections
Between souls and neighbors
Which form a community
That takes responsibility
For their own spiritual, mental,
Physical, and material betterment.

Why do we sit?
"Om" she chanted, the spritely tween she was.
Oh, the sovereingty of those at peace?
"sure" her older sibling said.
Why do we sit to look within? Does it make us strong?
What else makes us powerful?
Speaking, acting.
Does thinking make us powerful.
yes.
Does thinking, speaking, and acting create a lot of unrest?
It can.
Thus, we stop thinking, stop speaking, and stop acting.
"Isn't that what sleep is for?"
Yes. Do you sometimes dream in sleep?
yes.
Sitting in meditation, no thought, voice, or act, induces a dream state, but you are awake.
Do you like sometimes the feeling of dreams? yes?
This ecstasy one feels in a good dream is the same as in meditation.
But to see visions and have feelings like in a dream is only a biproduct of meditation.
So why do we meditate? "?"
TO go beyond, beyond acting, speaking, thinking, even beyond feeling and seeing.
This beyond can only be experienced for oneself.
It comes in many forms.
What is central to it is that you exist before it,
and you exist after it, but after you experience
it, you feel like a new you, a truly awakened you.

*** tries to be celestial
With the most reciprocal feelings.
The intertwining of consciousness
Around pleasuring each other
Until the bodies become one,
No difference is there between
Man and woman,
As they have taken on each other's
Soul and each other's form.

There is no home like sitting.
But words take one step toward the mind
And one step away from "I".

Time equals dedication.
Aspiring to be as dedicated as my house mate,
Rather even more dedicated.
How do I compete with almost 50 years of regular practice?
Just minute by minute.
No comparison is really needed.
He has his mantra and siddhis,
While I have my shikantaza.

Angry?
Frightened?
Sad
And alone?
Sleeping on benches?
We are one home
More central than one soul.
For a soul requires a 💓.
More than one person,
One home.

Two sets of eyes
Collide
In anger
In angst
One set is proud
And stands his ground.
Be his hurt
Be the pain
No questions asked
No turns to the right
Or to the left.

Turn fight/flight into widsom?
Maybe thinking about it at home.

Turn your head away
Walk home.

I am ******
I am ****
Because I am you
And you are me.
We are one.

I see your smile through distance and screen.
I hear your thoughtful voice from miles away.
We are so much alike,
Though we disagree on some of our certainties.
We talk and talk,
And sit to meditate,
Together.
And when I become pressed up to your heart,
You throw a glass of syncreticism in my face,
And our heart journey ends in disgrace.

Oh eye, of a day gone by in ease
How I used to radiate light, now you are a messenger of gray.
You have a face of winter winds.
You never stay too long in the lighted center.
Don't you remember the dreams we've had?
In the world beyond the dust?
No, light does not come often from the lawful self, but is rather from knowledge or wisdom met with a hundred mercies.
My spirit is too diverse in colors to be seen as one light.
My creation does not lie in the fixation of a white or golden light, rather its creativity is seen in how I design.
My beauty is more than a point, it is as a flower held in front of a point.  Only by its being there does the point recognize the flower's value.
How I wish to be blessed with the point that my flower can hold it.
Hardly a petal is accepted, what an aged face I've become.
My own inner spirit must combine with my body to make beauty, which then must pass through my own acceptance - how hard it is.
Something's always afoul.
I should give up and say there's no such thing as beauty in an eye.
I am to be the saddest face if I behold your seas of bliss repeatedly.
A true smile comes from the Earth beneath me.
With enough shaking, it turns my heart to joy.
But it doesn't show on my skin.
There is no beauty in men.

I find myself in an uneasy stupor, amix of stress and reality.
It seems that no freedom from medication can change the bleakness of reality.
Whereas before I was beholder of every dream, now I live in my own dream-like state.
As though my mind is always at sea.
Like a moat my eye is, from which my feet cannot carry me.
Dependent on the clarity of others.
My eyes beget no sharpness.
As one half-asleep my tale unfolds.
I live halfway in bed and halfway outside it.
No one to save me from this reality.
My daydream journeys are as real as my wakefulness inasmuch as they both carry my soul away.
My right eye cannnot be open
My left eye cannnot be closed.
Every thought takes me to a place.
Every though takes me from here.
No word can be spoken from one place, but is spoken from half here half there.
My inner eye can rarely meet my outer one.
I can't fully get out of my sleep.

How did I walk 37 miles in 19 hours?
How did I bike 90 miles in 11 hours?
...
Inhale in nose, exhale in nose 4x
Inhale in nose, exhale in mouth 4x
Inhale in mouth, exhale in nose 4x
Inhale in mouth, exhale in mouth 4x
And repeat.

You just need enough food and water and a pair of soft and hard soled shoes.

Water drips from a faucet
Or it gushes out of a shower head
Sometimes I want to turn it off
Sometimes I want to leave it on
Sometimes I drink it
Sometimes I swish and spit it out

O wind, o air of present day wisdom. O insightful brethren of the gardens of reality. O ominous depth which no one has crossed in a day.
O head and eye, symbols of understanding and vision.
O hole, o void, on the floor of my being: consuming every normal thought I can muster.
O reflection of a reflection, distracting me from my first attraction.
Now I'm lost in this crystal cave of imagination, which breaths in the Spirit of the present day.
Was not this what I was seeking: to enter the boat rowing on this sea,
To look further in this void of my soul, which swallows every normal way and intention.
Rhymes here mock the true story.
Every creature of normalcy is swallowed by this nothing.
Only building a stronger ship and stronger rowing arms gets me further.

The Hood of the Worlds is worn by my guide
Sick with illness of body, this is the only way to cross the waves.
For nature is now forgotten, only winds of destiny remain.
Here comes the winds of despair blowing next to this ship without sail.
The writer's body fails mid-row.
Will the normalcy give it's cure to the seeker of the philosopher's stone, and cause this ship to sink?
The weird is precious here, but a day of normalcy before has shut weird's way as well.
I breathe into my gut the winds of sorrow, now the poison of malace wafta over the waters.
What will I stumble upon on this journey?
What could be in store for this adventurer?
Even the normalcy of the elements try to cure my disease of unrest.
Why not sail a ship by the winds of tomorrow?
With that last word, normal has bound my heart, now my limb.
I place my hand more firmly on the oars, but now wonder if I even need to row to find what I'm looking for.

I step aboard another bigger ship of a fellow seeker true.
He has sails that already blow,...with tomorrow?!
What have I done?
My poor boat was best, stricken by death.
But he reassured me: "I have food and supplies until sunrise".
But tomorrow is too normal still.
It's sun and Ray's, the billowing clouds, all make for me to sink back into the hole, the void.
Maggets fester, worms intrude, in the dark water.
Yet even these creatures' nature to decompose my body, is too normal for the void.
Being me, being man, being human, too normal too.
I'm only a spec, a mark, a dot, and once I manifested I get merged.
So I'll remain partially hidden in everything.

Is that what this is about?
That what I see is partially hidden for a point?
For a point to not sweep itself away?
Yes, the kingdom of heaven"in your midst" or "within" is just a way to keep the light just right for my own edification and entertainment.
Too normal this purpose is, for me to cross this void.
No, the point still hidden, that wondrous spec, is hidden due to weakness of me, it's observer.
Or else hidden and manifest would be one.
Look what I've found, I've come to "He".
A normal thing I do all the time, I know.
So this reason is too normal to bring a shade of new to this void, so peaceful it is.
"He" knows too much to seek out anything.
"It is you I seek" He says with utmost adoration of me, His subject.

If you seek me, and I seek to build a ship that can bridge the dark and the light, is your Ark, so strong, just another ship to poke a hole in?
"Why I don't know" was His reply.
I guess I'll climb aboard, and be His guest.
What do I seek?
A gem like no other, a tale fabricated that even I would be amazed at.
"I know what you seek" He says as He steers His Ark in it's direction.
"A million stars?" He asks.
"Even that is a common normal thing".
"A ship to cross them?" He wonders.
What is there our there that is more amazing than transcendence?
"Hmm, I wonder," He gives a smile of admiration.
"That's what I've said too" He agreesthe tale is told to a degree.

Should I give free away this truth... That it be eaten by sparrow and fly alike?
Once the pyramid became a part of my inner vision, I soon realized through diligence that It leads to E Pluribus Unum, "from many, one".
And as I solve my own problems, (they are the same for family, nation, and the world)
I see the picture of the gradual unity of our planet's society, and beyond.

The pyramid is the final vision beyond which there is no passing.
It is a moving Kaaba, carried away by angels and forces.
There is no way out of the pyramid.
When I reach the top it becomes less important as a top and a point.
The only way out of the pyramid is to attack it, which would attack beauty and attack simplicity.
Observing it is like having every answer given and every mystery solved, except Its own mystery.
The Messenger is the Pyramid of Reality.

As Plato stated:
First study sound,
then philosophy,
and finally physics.
So too, in the inner school:
mantra,
then silence,
and finally visualization.

For once all three are studied,
all can work in harmony.

The Pyramid is the Messenger
   of the Spirit world after we pass on.
We all must resolve to consecrate
   our actions to the Pyramid there.
The Orb is the handmaid that
   every soul is given for its care.

O silver and black knight of the forest,
what goal have you taken up for the castle?
"I seek to slay with my beauty only..."
"Slay those cries and moans from lonely damsels."

"What business does an evil eye have in the land
of purity and repose?"
"I have many good deeds fine guardian."
"Then enter secure, but let no evil in, or you will be cast
out."
....
"You have no business here until your
wicked deeds are paid for, get out!"

"Hey, that's okay," a fair damsel
allows me to part from my solitude.
Put on the sandy veil of partnership, for the spirit has
reached into the divine female and divine male.
Let those chakras make a transpersonal point,
but sacral business is all I see.
Maidens forever young.

It seems an eunich has breached our display.
But are we allowed back into the land of purity and repose?
It seems the true goal of a babe's heart
at the lap of his mother has entered the lair.

Now is the fair damsel taken to the merciless judge.

Now is a beautiful friend, waiting all this
time, to exchange a breeze
of heartfelt love.
****** purity is sought after, yet
there is no place to hide a ****.

Light no longer is transferred from the 8th dimension.
The male/female chakras above the crown open up again
for sacral play.
The sattvic essence remains,
and I am held dearly at this party.

The children outlast me during the night.

I enter through a circular gate of pastel crystal petals
into a deck of superstrength beings
of all colors.
A female face is grafted to mine.
She puts on silver and black armor
and the walls are crimson.

O celestial mountain, let me climb the stairs of patience
that the immortal front may be birthed anew.
Cover thyself with the robe
of the Ancient Root,
and with the Hood of the Worlds,
that you may hearken to the
winds of mystery
and the tremors of the stock of oneness.
Suffer time
to pass thee by
that the eternal sun
may shine upon thee.
Let the Mother of Eternity
give thee nourishment
at the seat
of powerlessness.

It is more than breathing forbearance, but
being forbearance itself. Like the back of my head is
pushed to the wall and I am allowing the Spirit
to push me further away from the middle.

The pyramid is the greatest source of God's Might
and is the most hidden retreat of Light: in the realm
of shapes and symbols.
The body takes on the quality of a pyramid.

There are man-made, divinely inspired, objects.
These are all micro aspects of the pyramid.
The city within the pyramid has many aspects hidden
behind "doors".
The letters and words written on the pyramid's parts allow
for the splendor of mankind.
All lights in this city get their power from the Divine.

The pyramid is the owner of Silence.
The sides of the pyramid are upheld by the
straight back of silence. Its apex is held by
the inner observer.

Baha'u'llah is the Fire of Being kindled by the snow of
faith, whereas the Spirit is the eyewash of light
upon the prism of the heart.

Notice how Baha'u'llah's Fire of Being is lit in the
conscious mind and not the subconscious mind like the Spirit is.
The conscious mind is a mind without concern for
past or future. It knows no rank and holds no
station. It has no depth or height. It has no design and
holds no symbol.
It knows no support.
It is a mark of crimson. It holds no eloquent speaker, except the inspiration of the heart, and Baha'u'llah Himself.
It knows no plan except 'Abdu'l-Baha's Divine Plan, it has
no mortal guide except Shoghi Effendi's letters.
It carries out the devotion shown to it.
Devotion here is one thing done at a time, and cannot be
sustained except with great desire.
There is no room for impressing someone.
It hath no wisdom save what is stored in the heart.
It sees the world as a child, 100% hope.
Its energy is the ignorance of purity.
Its captain is the invoker of His Word.
It is stoked at the fire of responsibility.
It is drowned by the remembrance of aught except Him.

Those who believe in Me have a special place after they die. They will be given untold glory and joys of ineffable gladness. Those who doubt My words will come to know of their loss after death and will continue to humble themselves throughout eternity. Fires of ignorance will bind them throughout the worlds of God.  When they seek distinction after death, they will weep bitterly as one who has not know God.  Belief in Me is contingent on obeying My laws and neither is acceptable without the other. If the rebel ceases their transgression, and asks for forgiveness in a state of repentance, it will be better for them. Weigh not My words with any other Book or allusion and confuse not thyself with signs which bear no reality. My Knowledge has always been with God as it shall remain.

I find myself in between the Gog of complexity and the Magog of simplicity. Let forth your tongue to extol God and Its Message. No man hath taken Its image as God is beyond reflection.

When the boy asks to know, set thyself toward your own sight and renounce any thought save Me. No helper do you have save Me.
We speak only what We hear, and never will spiritual dominion be given to one who produces thoughts set on the vanities of the world. Produce their dominion by using them for the benefits of mankind.

Those who cannot overlook the misdeeds of the Chosen Ones of God, the Prophets, will never be able to overlook the deeds of any of God's creatures.  Such lucidity will overcome them, and they will be forced to acknowledge that no being in the heavens or in the earth can leave without a trace of hate in the hearts when looking with the eyes of retribution.

The time for justice has come. Make a plan for the redemption of your heart, but know that whosoever overlooks others' shortcomings is met with more rewards in the worlds of eternity. For whose plan of vengeance is more just than God's, Who punishes without the knowledge of Its creatures and rewards without their knowledge either.

No laws will be given by Me save the exact Law of Baha'u'llah's Covenant. For I have not come to change His laws, but fulfill them. Abandon your couches for seat with the Christ. He is come again unto you while ye were enmeshed in your own designs.
Have you not heard the bells peal in My name, though the name be bereft of glory, We have come to extol God's laws, laws which will pattern a civilization in the feet of Isaiah's prophecy. Everywhere Its laws are heard over the skies and throughout the earth. Hearken then to taking delight in them.

For whoso has turned away from them, hath turned away from the Spirit and never associated with It. For the senses seek their own sight, and I have come to give you God's vision. Instead, you have turned to the god of the air and body, and not the God Divine, the One alone that can release you into the worlds of eternal sunshine. Though the god of the body gives the beauty of your own existence, I have come as a gardener to set the diverse plants of humanity in order. We see that little gardening has been done, so there is plenty still to do.

It is the capacity only to act for myself.
It is the capacity neither of self-subsistence nor without
self-reliance.
It is neither the epitome of wisdom, nor the epitome of
ignorance.
It is not the epitome of beauty nor the epitome of
ugliness.

Lack doesn't make for worry and excellences
are counted as special gifts of life.
Like a ****** pressed between my fingers is my soul
in God's Presence.
Thus, do I recognize my karma as not the
best, but not the worst.

It is surrounded by pretty, but not the equisite.
It is surrounded by clutter and dirt, but
not grotesque filth.
It is as a middle ground from which any quality
would cease the ground's existence.
It is not mommy or daddy, not child and not adult.
It is not old nor young.
It is not sun nor moon, but star.
It is not perfection, but comfortable imperfection.
It is not as fair as pastel, nor as gaudy as neon.
It is not known, but not unknown.
It is not host of a soul, yet does not exclude
any soul.
It does not grasp, nor release.

"Why is your skin orange?"
It is joking about vanity.
It is not slack, nor is it strong effort.
It is not wickedness, nor is it judgement.
It is not righteousness, nor is it evil.
It is not astray, nor is it unastray.
It is not a party, nor is it loneliness.
It is the monk of reality.
It pretends not to harness all of my memories.
Nor does it pretend not to conjure memories.
It is not shadow, nor light.
It is the plastic-self, unable to be immortal,
and unable to abide mortally.
It is the spirit of self, yet the spirit of others.
It is not empty, nor full.
It is construction of the simple.
It is construction of the difficult.
It is cleaning the toilet.
It aligns with no group, nor does
it not exist in any group.
It is folly through shallowness.
It is wisdom from shallowness.
It is not pure, nor does it lack
purity.
It is not popular, nor does it fail to get attention.
It is desire, not not sin.
It is her, but not Her.
It is resurrection, but not life nor death.
It is not heard, nor listened.
It is not unhealthy, nor is it strong.

boyhood crushes.

It is not power, nor is it incapacity.
It is not opinionated, nor is it opinionless.
It is not blood, nor is it light.
It is not long, nor short.
It is not curved, nor straight.
It is not solid nor gas.
It is not water nor is it not a liquid.
It is not salt nor is it not saline.
It is not belt, nor backpack.
It is not car nor home.
It is not bed nor is it not rest.
It is not gold nor bread.
It is not giving nor hoarding.
It is not meat but it is cheese.
It is not poor, nor rich.
It is not career nor retirement.
It is not fair, nor unfair.
It is holy, but not pure.
It is not heresy, nor help.
It is not metro nor country.
It is not the center nor is it the side.
It is not age nor mind.
It is not body nor heart.
It is not skin nor bone.
It is not brief nor long.
It is not sink nor swim.
It is not lesson nor tale.
It is not story nor biography.
It is not virtue nor vice.
It is not a lie nor a truth.
It is not shallow nor deep.
It is not structure nor process.

Samadhi.

'Abdu'l-Baha said that all current forms of astrology
are bogus,
but said that the stars do affect us,
because He wanted to make us try and understand
the sky for ourselves.

The sky is as the mind, cognition, in change.
While earth is as the body, structure, little change.
The sun moves the fastest from day to day,
so it is the heart, the essence.
The moon moves slower, but still relatively fast.
It is as "the breath, the Spirit," He said.
Mercury is the fastest planet in the sky.
It is as "water, the baptism of knowledge," He said.
All the other planets move at about the same speed
up there.
The constellations are as designs and spaces,
crystals, if you will,
by which we see.
The movement of the stars from century to century
is like the circadian rhythm.

See clearly
and find out for yourself
using a star map.
This is all done within reason
and mirrors many elements of
other ancient astrology.

"A" crowned my head with a crown like
twigs while "A" was seated on the Throne.
Notice how Baha'u'llah reverberates that it is a different
throne, yet in essence the same One.
Fire like a rainbow.
Notice how a Prophet would gulp when another Prophet is
"mentioned".
Notice how a Prophet does not need to "believe" in else
except God.
"C" is same.
If I am a Prophet without a voice from God, please
don't let me speak.
All the Prophets have transparent beauty like
"C".
Above the City of Immortality is the Valley of
the Manifestations.  Where the Sun of Reality
is home and all the denizens are refreshed
and find God again from whence they have
left.  Nothing but God lies above this Valley
and the Presence of the Beloved is aglow
....in every limb.
The Presence is enlivening and heavy
in vitality.
"I hate you, I love, I hate that I love you",
echoes to hearts not attune to the Transcendent One.
The Presence has a unique energy that allows
Them to change the universe of lower natures.
All stresses dissipate away.
Those Eyes that see all of me.
Energy as if from another world,
as if always awakening from bed.
It is sitting in the Manifestation's Tent.
It is feeling Their skin become mine own skin.
Light so warm that it is cool.
Names have no place here,
only Spirit - the Transcendent.
I forget myself and
instead caught up in "A".
The fullness of the Manifestations will soon, soon
manifest in all of us.
24 karat Golden DNA.

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.

O to be prejudice between the visible
and invisible Baha'u'llah.
When moving out of nature becomes moving by the Will.
Therefore, divinity becomes a shuffling of
the attention away from all things, words, senses,
forms, and starts to receive instructions from
the personages that visit me.
She stared at me as if I was the sole
expression of her day,
tossed the blouse covering her beauty.
Her waist was perfect and made
mine perfect while sitting.
She caught sight of Baha'u'llah,
and her spirit dispersed.
Angels of Prophets parted ways,
by means of Names.
He unfolds a general saying
to tell me of His hidden power.
That woman, Rey, of the Force
looks at me with tears in her eyes.
Baha'u'llah always leaves me
to have no sign or description
of the divine.
He came and left, and though seen and felt, left no remaining
evidence
of His
Self.

What is over there?
You're going swimming.
Your swimming suit fits well.
Your brow speaks of knowledge
your ear catches my tune
I think of a brush when you pull back your hair.
Too bad these hands are unfit to touch you.
"That's okay Chad, I get it," you whisper half to
yourself.
The weather fills up your gaze
Half looking at me, half looking away.
I enjoy the paleness of your skin.
I notice now the sun on your face,
a dancer's chin.