poetry falcon's Post
Elmer finished his gin and went to bed. He quickly succumbed to a dream:
There was a woman sitting by a harp-like instrument. She was enshrouded in translucent white curtains. She was him but he could see her as if he were another. There was no music playing. She spoke: “Sometimes I have to do things that will make you question the way you perceive them. It’s a blind gutter. The faces come and go. Pick one light and rest your name on it. It doesn’t matter which one. He needs your help. You are a receiver and space soldier. He can’t help but be a conduit and he has no control over what comes through. You can listen. You can make the nectar. You can be the mirror for the light. Let him go. Completely. Force nothing. Do not meddle. Do not meddle. Do not meddle. Do not seek the treasure. The plethora of cornucopias are always arising and diminishing in myriad formations. They are non-arising. They are beginningless and endless. Watch yourself put cheese on a cracker and eat it. Look at who might be doing that. Look at who experiences the flavor and makes the jaws chomp down. Watch the trees move and forget that you know wind. Watch them dance for you. All for you. There is no wind. There never was. Blow on them yourself. You already are. Don’t remember so much.”
The woman stood up and held out her hand. The harp-thing dissolved into her palm. She made a gesture with her hands and tilted her head and he knew what was meant while knowing nothing at all.
By: via poetry falcon
There was a woman sitting by a harp-like instrument. She was enshrouded in translucent white curtains. She was him but he could see her as if he were another. There was no music playing. She spoke: “Sometimes I have to do things that will make you question the way you perceive them. It’s a blind gutter. The faces come and go. Pick one light and rest your name on it. It doesn’t matter which one. He needs your help. You are a receiver and space soldier. He can’t help but be a conduit and he has no control over what comes through. You can listen. You can make the nectar. You can be the mirror for the light. Let him go. Completely. Force nothing. Do not meddle. Do not meddle. Do not meddle. Do not seek the treasure. The plethora of cornucopias are always arising and diminishing in myriad formations. They are non-arising. They are beginningless and endless. Watch yourself put cheese on a cracker and eat it. Look at who might be doing that. Look at who experiences the flavor and makes the jaws chomp down. Watch the trees move and forget that you know wind. Watch them dance for you. All for you. There is no wind. There never was. Blow on them yourself. You already are. Don’t remember so much.”
The woman stood up and held out her hand. The harp-thing dissolved into her palm. She made a gesture with her hands and tilted her head and he knew what was meant while knowing nothing at all.
By: via poetry falcon
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