Written by Alex Cue 2019. All Rights Reserved ©
On the tip of the tongue the ineffable song
From the silence of
Nine billion names that don’t describe it:
“Not this, not this.”
A single syllable like four-letter words
Reduce it to an inscribable code,
The labels: Sky Father, Earth Mother,
“That thou art.”
In entheogenic throes of sensory overloads
The drop ripples into the ocean
As revelations echo inclusive affirmations:
“You are that.”
Stripped of perception’s greatest deception
Naked awareness reaches out
To identify with the impersonal:
“Thou art that.”
“Not quite, not quite,” say learned robes, often white.
Ho, here is Space! Ho, there is Time!
Their knowledge widens the gap.
“Not this, not that.”
Dilute the void that cannot be destroyed,
Call it eternal, call it infinite,
Fill it with everything, fill it with nothing.
“It’s neither here nor there.”
“Neither this nor that.”
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