Here across the sea of many craters from your love tonight, I’m looking at the brilliant crescent earth—knowing you are looking at it too.
On the moon, but never of green cheese—one never knows the unknown but one can be the werewolf that one is.
Beneath all rivers and mountains there lies hidden—the third moon of a seventh sun!
On Half Moon Lake when emptiness was empress of the waters once again and storms of form come beckoning like a city school of fools—
the social conditioning of scientific materialism is the old division. Deconstruction is the new math—consciousness only is avant garde!
You can never know the sun, you know. But if I try some times I find I am, the stainless moon—
consciousness only is the unborn mirror in which the absolute godness of pure awareness is spontaneously self-aware.
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