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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