On Into The Next Dimension
On into the next dimension
like a measure of thought
sitting full lotus
on a flying carpet of feeling
that's on the same wavelength as the stars.
I've been an intimate of windows long enough.
I trust them.
But they don't shine.
They're confined to the news
of what's going on beyond them
that's brought to them live
by skies they flip through
like old Time magazines in a doctor's office.
Their eyes are long on views
but shy on visions.
Cataracts in the eye.
Flowers in the sky.
If you look through them long enough
you'll kill all the wildflowers
in your field of vision
and your third eye
will start grinding lenses for a living
like Spinoza
for a spiritual telescope with myopia.
Clarity will start writing messages in your breath
you're meant to take to heart
as you watch the universe shrinking
like expiry dates on the hot gusts of stars
evaporating like ghosts
from the cold glassy stares
of windowpanes
that have been crying in secret for years
because they're not taken as seriously as mirrors.
It takes a rock of a will
and the passion of an angry delinquent
to break free of them
but once they're broken
like the link of a koan
that liberated you from your own thought-chains
you can still see the whole in every piece
of the primordial atom
that precipitated the Big Bang
but it doesn't get in the way of what's beyond it.
You stop lifting fingerprints
as evidence that you exist
and start lifting veils
begin shedding skins
stop asking sacred clowns
if they can still recognize you
under all the facepaint
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poem by Patrick White
Added by Poetry Lover
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