sometimes, the work gets buried in the move.
who can write about humans and
saturated things
which form themselves into
migrating myths and mouths
surrounding the smile of
Buddha Nature Sunrises?
and what witty soul food droll,
both human and unaltered
are most wholly born in sheer
simplicity, in the moment of surrender-decisions?
Like...when we are finally coming home to ourselves...
Like...when we FINALLY feel like we are visiting our bestest friend when we look IN the mirror.
half-life shelf-life
is an illusion-complicity around which all shadows of pain are
concretized
without whom common dialects
forget how to talk to one another
?
once we've grown-up enough to
christen the solid-drama-of dharma things
and view the world as smiley-face
‘thingies",
then and only then,
can we begin.
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