A resting place, beyond the madding crowd,
find rest
com fort ify
your quiet place, safe, say, make it so,
listen,
hear jets high above,
no contrails, no clouds, high pressure
clear skies,
no war on the horizon;
what if we imagined this,
today, while it is called today,
were a day when no lie was left
posing true, on earth, as in this
quiet place.

No word holding thoughts once common
is left idle,
meaning forms
a place where a prehender
can see how the handle makes the tool.
In formation, each imagined useful idea in need
of believers to let it be,
in a word.
Ask.
Is this useful for good?
Whole ideas can be null-ift, with a no.
You know, if the whole idea is a lie
locked in a meaningless whatphor.

Nature, and Nature's god, for instance,
escapes the test. Try it. Imagine now,
2019, your quiet place,
am I a being being? For no reason?

Is reason my word now, as may is mine,
ask
in your quiet place.

Prove me now, and see if
desire
words, de sidare (old idea, from the stars)
wishin' and hopin' and prayin'

grant or give or take away that which
you
desire, see sire, desire is a word that waits
in quiet places, for you, all ya'll,
to cognize and claim,

consider the connection made. Click.

That peace past understanding,
ever learning, line upon line,
precept after precept
apprehended

in your quiet place
word of truth
shows
unseen things, substantiates
situations worth the waiting patient per
fection of all concerning
you,
say the compilers of the good news who selected

that which works from that which shant,
should we agree to
go and see, if so and so saying, make it so,

makes it so. Amen is never a question,

you know. Amen is an agreement when so and so
says do as I tell you  to do,

and you obey. Eh? A link in an old chain?
Obediance is better than sacred making (art-ficing sacred, in effect).

Quiet. This time-less gap be twixt touch and feel and hope and see.
Here, we hear wisdom.
She, please agree, is gentle, never rude, but sharp, easy
to be entreated,

a poke in the old pineal gland, pay attention,
slightest ***** of a pin danced upon by angels
who fasted for
chains to be broken,
oppressed be set free,
strangers to be welcome here, iftar, after the fast
the future
now, here, where war is null ift, let us be
a net of quiet places
where messages
from where heaven is

connect to reality,
woof and warp, Ley
lines in time to this day, threads through
the maze to now, as natural as breathing.

(look around, there are no fates with scissors poised,
the titled reader's
pride acts a ***** and shame threatens blame,
but hell. whatcha got to lose?)

Be, still, being. Wonder what you are.