as Nisargadatta Maharaj

was spake woke thru: "'You

are the child of a barren woman''''.

I Am not your creation.

all bellies are cross even before

they grow a mouth to cry out

of them.

The Alone is never

affirmed otherwise.

we are truly dying

for one another.

as only The Self

knows.

giving what we

take, taking what

we give.

perfectly.

the ignorance i exacted

against myself repeats to

the very word.

of which i can no longer

read, because it hurts Us.

just keep waking in sleepfulness

to forget the sacred, now is now.

a bygone truth wandered

from itself to truth the more.

they had their place, but

they now hide when i look at them.

know this.

avert your eyes from them.

what we want from one other

has already been given.

you asked me to make a choice

between your flesh or your spirit.

what was chosen through me

was spirit.

there's a burn for every memory.

just as well.

you can't break silence.

when you get

to some-One,

they tell you

you're projecting.

all their notion

is spent to avoid

what does not exist.

it's very engaging.

as the cloth of wind horses

are cut--plain, cloud to cliff.

one run through, eyes lodged

into a home beyond the stratum

of rest.

a skull no time could desert.

triad motion unfurled with what

can never stand opposed to death

in life.

fed manna of shadow quicker than

the sun, it is time and again.

many-faced cores of moons struck.

a headless elephant of blue-pearled lightning

walks the thunderclap of millennia...

gone across the bridge of quintessence.

where there is not even space for

The Word to speak of--the trishul is raised!

crown, fount and head-wave of an ocean's will

curls, and all its  behemoths roll over like

obedient dogs.

constellated to salt--bitterly sweet as water sees itself.

last radiations of unretrievable grace pried from

form...Shivoham~