No More Holding Back. Be Reckless. Tell

Out Beyond Ideas Of Wrongdoing And Rightdoing There Is A Field. I'll Meet You There. When The Soul Lies Down In That Grass The World Is Too Full To Talk About.

I Am Bewildered By The Magnificence Of Your Beauty; And Wish To See You With A Hundred Eyes . . . I Am In The House Of Mercy, And My Heart Is A Place Of Prayer.

Not Christian Or Jew Or Muslim, Not Hindu, Buddhist, Sufi, Or Zen. Not Any Religion Or Cultural System. I Am Not From The East Or The West, Not Out Of The Ocean Or Up From The Ground, Not Natural Or Ethereal, Not Composed Of Elements At All. I Do Not Exist, Am Not An Entity In This World Or The Next, Did Not Descend From Adam Or Eve Or Any Origin Story. My Place Is Placeless, A Trace Of The Traceless. Neither Body Or Soul. I Belong To The Beloved, Have Seen The Two Worlds As One And That One Call To And Know, First, Last, Outer, Inner, Only That Breath Breathing Human Being.

Listen To Presences Inside Poems, Let Them Take You Where They Will. Follow Those Private Hints, And Never Leave The Premises.

Open Your Hands If You Want To Be Held.