The shaman charged too much
for your own breath.
The savior hid your soul under a cup
and switched it with his own.
The guru ran off with your Shakti
during
the honeymoon.
She came back weeping and ashamed.
Meanwhile the leftist tricked you
into thinking you were some oppressor's victim,
while the fascist promised to make you great again
if you worshiped his flag and shouldered an AR-15.
The yoga teacher told you your body was God,
but
the Channeler of Ascended Masters
insisted all flesh is an illusion.
So you went to a workshop in Bali
with a non-duality stud who used to be
a tennis pro named Marvin, but calls himself
Ananda now, and spends the whole week
reminding you he teaches Nothing,
because there is no teacher, and no one to teach.
You
felt guilty when you asked your bank
to cancel his $5000 check, so you
sent him a new one, made out for Zero.
Maybe that's why you went back to church
and tried to feel like a sinner,
so you could get saved.
But there was Nothing to get saved from.
What
will you do now that you've followed
every path, and wound up here
in the old growth forest again?
Don't become cynical, friend.
Just
take off your shoes and wander all night,
barefoot on broken moonbeams
among the Bleeding Fairy Helmets,
fungi
Mycena Haematopis,
sprawling in trillium, cradled by cedar roots.
to shush of owl wing raven croak
embodied howl of grandma coyote
until your lost enough to cry,
"I am home, I am home!"
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