No preaching, please. It doesn’t work. It never did, other than to fan the flames of all things untethered. Another time, maybe. For now, I just can’t help seeing you the way I see you. Which is to say, notsomuch the way you look, but the way you are, as I know you. If I put a face on it, will you recognize yourself? If I don’t, how will you know what I’m saying? Well, you won’t. Perfect. You can decide for yourself. It’s all in motion, we’re in motion, the watery waves of the past, receding, receding, fading away. Leaving us on the shores of, well, some might say, enlightenment. But I would say, exquisite awareness. The kind you can’t ignore, put down or completely understand. Breath gives it a path through the body, until you see it with your eyes, not a dream, a reality like none you’ve ever known. Never, never listen to forgetful magicians disparage the quality of your fantasies. They’ll soon wake up in a pool of light, swimming in your eyes, laughing out loud.
No Preaching Please
