the lock
a coat hanger,
one of the pins from her hair
What is a mystic?
One that uses experience to distill truth from life, that seeks conjugal harmony with all existence? One that seeks to fly with the heart over every plain and hill, to stand with the soul in every stream, to lie in the rushes with every tiny insect that chirps at night, to be at piece with every man and woman in their very own beds, to gallop with the mind across the starry heavens, to fuse in spirit with every wild bird and every great creature that prowls in the forest, to be at one with all creation in one burst, acknowledging all.
I empty my mind when it is full, and when it is half full I also empty it.
Even when it is empty, clearing it out does no harm.
All else must be finished by the day, when all else I dreamed of will be thrown away.
Light by night, and light by day.
burnt sun
murals
on the
courtyard walls
