Some times the words come like brickbats –
others like beams of light.
A vision may arise from a deep shadow –
a prayer may go from your lips
to a beloved ear.
Human memory is a labyrinth of instincts –
fragments of vast experience draw a sort of map.
Divinity is simply the whole enchilada –
the terrible beautiful World.
In the Ear of the All
your little Self
is a sound
in a symphony.
a wheel
a whorl
a curl
a world