My propping myself up
with my elbows is
painful, but nothing like
the pain
in propping myself up
as a false character
as a puppet who spins
a toy stage of illusion
from the very strings which hold him
from these heavens of deception.
Not established; i bow to
Not being established.
The spirits of your own personal
sphere, your sphere like a roller-rink made of
articulated mist — those spirits, they
flash, signaling the most pertinent
of guiding revelations, like
unpredictable traffic lights. You
must fine-tune yr. rusty
receptors to their unimpeded
transmission, for they
will never fail to slash
through wavering, immolating the tremble
of self-doubt. Once you pick
off the blistered imprints of
cognitive cloud formations, you
can swallow the gang signs
of awareness. Everything will dissolve
in one way
and become even more vivid
in another.
Dzigar Gompa, Darjeeling, India
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