how can it not be me
when i'm all you've ever seen
i'd go on, but i'm not as good at the storytelling.
i bent over to to kiss my dog and stabbed the center of my forehead. i have a nice tiny gash right where the third eye sits. maybe the universe is now saying that i'm seeing a little more clearly.
my surroundings ask for definitions. what do i do and who do i do it with? perhaps from now on, my answer will simply be...God.
the scenes carry on and the wonders continue. i'm somewhere between the land of loving it and being dead to it. it gives meaning to the Sufi "die before you die" or the Saint's assertion "i die daily."
to live in the storyless Way and yet to be invited to tell stories every which way you turn is a strange place in which to dwell.
i seldom speak of the stories dancing before me. i prefer to run my mouth on the topic of the mental tricks that are the stories we live out.
so what shall i say when the queries come?
oh i know this one...
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