For *those that have just lost their keys *those that are well-versed *inebriated ones *wanderers *mermaids *those that belong elsewhere *whippersnappers *marvelous ones *those that are not included in this classification *those that flutter because the moment is fleeting *boundless ones *those colored with slippery fingerpaint *others *those that resemble someone I know from a distance

Thursday, July 01, 2010

You there, reading this poem by robert martin

the consciousness
that I am,
the consciousness,
that cannot be burned,
or cut, or marked, or wet,
the consciousness that can travel
at the speed of thought,
the consciousness that is already there,
the very consciousness that says:
there is no real time, or space,
there are no limitations,
the consciousness that says:
you are made in the image of God,
to be Godlike,
the consciousness that experiences,
unto itself,
by itself,
for itself,
the sacred expression,
you there,
reading this poem,
you are the very one,
I address,
I see a light.
and by “I see a light,”
the I,
I am talking about,
is “you,”
I see a light,
a tiny fragile, beautiful bubble,
of light,
floating in emptiness,
and it sees me,
and in dancing,
we move,
into the other,
and it is the universe,
and I, can, see,
as if,
standing on the edge,
of a football field,
looking out,
I can see—
end to end,
top to bottom,
side to side,
post to post,
this tiny bubble of light,
full of movement,
spiraling, and spiraling
unto itself,
by itself for itself,
this galactic expanse,
full of expectation,
I can see the majesty,
I see the sacred expression,
and it sees me,
and we dance,
and we move,
into the other,
and we dance,
and we move,
into the other,
and I am it.
and I am it.

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