The Moon Has Become A Dancer At

Listen, Open A Window To God And Begin To Delight Yourself By Gazing Upon Him Through The Opening.

For Without You, I Swear, The Town Has Become Like A Prison To Me. Distraction And The Mountain And The Desert, All I Desire.

In Silence There Is Eloquence.

I Am Dying Into Your Mystery, And Dying, I Am Now No Other Than That Mystery. I Open To Your Majesty As An Orchard Welcomes Rain, And Twenty Times That.

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.