"Everybody must get stoned!" ~Bob Dylan 

Even space gets high on light when the sun finds its vein.
Stillness begins spinning, begets the atom.
Hemlocks and cedars lit from their roots up,
underground mycelium fix of golden mushrooms.
Earth wobbles off her axis, but this dizziness isn't her fault.
Blame God, the first pusher of all that moves.
In the beginning, angels passed out cups of this stuff
at the feast where we conceived the galaxies.
Now we nod in a fuzz of stars, a quantum snow of bliss.
We're drifting nuclei, connected by dilated gazes.
We've learned to mingle our roots, like a giant fungus.
This is not about chemistry: it's much subtler.
This is about the astonishment of the heart,
the organ of silence, our addiction to ecstasy.
Rumi used the wine of love.
We mainline pure consciousness,

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Cool! I love this poem.