The city sitter looks like the constituents of the city.
Silence goes to those who need safety the most.
Silence is not a light, but is usually unconsciously directed toward mercy for me, as my countenance is covered by its past.
Silence goes first to the wicked.

I have five appendages: head, arms, and legs.
More complex than oneness: what of the
six joints of every leg and arm, or the seven vertebra of the neck?
Thus, looking at the body becomes more and more complex
until I revert back to where my body evolved from a single-
celled organism, which in turn came from water.

Emotions are like appendages, there are also five simple emotions.
Looking at them react together is very complex to follow each motion.

Then, to complete the divine triangle: body, emotion, and, knowledge, which is born of unification.
Virtue are singularities of all three together.

Spirit is service,
compulsion is a virtue of youth and vitality.
It is excess of enjoyment. It knows
less limits and adheres to less stillness.
Insanity is the virtue of enjoyment that is converted
to pain: a pain for others, if not sorrow for me.

Thus, when I am continually the object of my own
insanity, it can be hidden.  But when it affects others,
it becomes mental illness.

Are there any words which capture wisdom?
Grief of Prophets.
Are there any words which speak enlightenment's prose?
Silence.
Are there any words which tell of an artist's hopelessness?
Time: the comparison between two differing things.

Only age can gain age's beauty.
Only in time can tell the artist's proficiency.

The mind is the most charming
Of the senses.
It wishes for more complicated
Symbols that represent
This mortal world.
These symbols mistaken
For the highest good,
And could become a veil
Between the highest good:
The soul.

The soul must be nurtured
Before the mind.
Though the seas of knowledge and spirit are both vast,
The mind can drink more
And faster than the soul.
Thus, for one concentrated
On the soul,
It takes double the patience:
Not only to overcome the trappings of the body,
But also the allurements of
The mind, which always seeks this world in a coy way.
Always beguiling it's bearer of knowing more at the expense of friends, family, and community.

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.

What is quantifiable are the symbols. What isn't quantifiable are the zones between the symbols, unless there are many symbols present that form spaces.
There are partial symbols, i.e. a gesture of an animal is present but not the form of the animal.
Reality stays more abstract with partial symbology.
What is known about the symbol gives reality meaning.
Speaking of visions as symbols separates the meaning from the visual experience.
The person who doesn't see the symbol as the reality has not been exposed to reality which is somewhat hard to ascertain.
When, in dreams for example, there are just collages of things, it is hard to say that it is more than a collage. But if I recognize symbology, it allows me to see every part of the picture.
Symbols are more for the artist than the scientist who simply wants to verify what happens in reality. While transcendent of verification of meaning is reality "filler", yet it attains to meaning only if it is seen as symbol.
The filler is more abstract because logic only exists here if we consciously give something meaning. Otherwise a huff of a dog, for example, is merely a passing image.
Since concrete objects already have existential meaning, they cannot constitute as filler.
Visions, because they only partially exist, calls into question existence itself.
In filler reality, it becomes participatory as to giving reality meaning or just enjoying the visions.
What separates this filler world from normal mind is that meaning is no longer the key to reality.
Simply experiencing the visuals explain reality in an easy way.
Meaning almost ruins the mode of experience.

*** 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.

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.

Movement and shout has been given to the world.
Who wants to spend time in stillness and silence?
Me who listens to the reverberation of these frequencies, and observes their form and colors.
Silence listens most to the unheard.
In it my consciousness forms a likeness of myself.
Mine is like that white guy with a buzz cut, who sees truth for himself, and has a wider than thin musculature (medium).
How similar are "we" really to put every white guy with a buzz cut with a medium build who rejects the conformal truth prevalent in this country and time?
Why should they be the sidhas that my mind shows me?
What is their power?
Their eyes show the imperfection of a tattoo.
That inkish black stare.
Those creases on the forehead.
That perplexed point on the brow.
That hair so short as to wonder its color, introducimg itself in the eye brows, the white skull cap, and even the short spotty beard.
The shadows between lights portrays more gray than black and white.
The gray of prison bars, the gray of streets, the gray of rain clouds.
With all the fancy of a toilet bowl.
With all the luxury of a walk.
More a "Beastie Boy" than an "Eminem".
More a Jew than a Christian.
More a Baha'i than a Muslim.
More a Buddhist than a Hindu.
When will shade and utility become beauty?

I am the power of literacy,
The power of the written word,
The power of the tongue.
I am not the color of my skin, but the content of my mind.

I prefer silence to news.
I prefer to vote for the party of lesser evil than write-ins.
I prefer religion to politics.
I prefer oneness to distinction.
I prefer coffee to alcohol.
I prefer cigarettes to refer.
I prefer nutmeg to LSD.
If I could give all these up except one, I would prefer oneness.

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.

Looking for meaning is a hindrance in meditation.
It prevents the 'invisible' world of visions from coming and being enjoyed.
When I turn off introspection, the Presence of "Be and it is" or "I am that I am" fills the void.
The be-ing spirit takes very little time in it to fully be fortified by it.
Emmersing further in it is like entering a forest on a dark night without a flashlight.
It starts to form my body into the orb of patience.
Patience then conjures that meaning is next, but it must be overlooked, or 10 days of struggle are due.

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.

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.

"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.

Righting beautiful wrongs.
His name comes forth as a poet.
A ship goeth upon the sublime sea.
First this wonder swims the cool streams.
Ship that it is, that becomes as one with time.
Here takes the shape of over there, that shipyard, that dock, those waves, and the mighty horizon.
No will to press for ship's sake save to meet another ship.
Wandering in the waves for water's ways.
The magnificent mystery of puzzles catches my eye.
While there is no other ship straying here I will becloud myself with this beauty encrested in man's reality.
What and how will I find a drizzle of a drop that he should proclaim to be truth.
Forth he finds who can hear him.
His name is Noble, the Middle Way, the Bridge.
Don't fall lad, don't fall.
Should the fall hurt, reflect on how one may not bleed again.

I look at a woman's overall shape, if I look
on the surface at individual parts, I must
focus on that one that gives me the most pleasure.
With unknown women there is spontaneity.
To fall in love, I must recognize her every body
part as consisting of a whole being of beauty.
My hope in a woman keeps me interested in them.
Looking away from her does not reveal herself to me.
Another woman's stare divorces myself with the
previous beauty.  All that is left is my memory of her.
A woman's picture doesn't want ***.
She wants a man to trust, a man to love.
I thought I saw the golden pyramids of Giza
in her breast.
I thought I saw a horse's mane fall from
her head.
I saw bones like foundations of steel and concrete.
I saw a ***** as round as a balloon.
I saw not one piece of flab on her.
I looked at myself and said "How could are
union ever be?"
Maybe if she was Wiccan... maybe if she could
express her power over me...
Maybe if she really only cared about contemplation
of the heart, or the soul... or,  maybe if Jesus liked
interfaith marriages...
Maybe if we spent time together on projects...
Maybe if I wanted to change her beauty.

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.

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.

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?

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.

O diver, crush this body of union, to possess
a greater diamond.
Alas, all earthly joy is crushed by the wet
weather.
All spirituality seems to turn back to the
dust.
Spiritual images, though seen, are not felt.
Spirit only reaches out, but finds just another
human, some invisible princess to grasp with its
tentacles.

"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.