The shaman charged you 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,
Your soul came home weeping and ashamed.
Meanwhile the leftist tricked you
into thinking you were a victim,
while the fascist promised to make you great again
if you worshiped his flag and carried an AR-15.
The yoga teacher told you your body was God
but the new age
channeler of Ascended Masters
insisted your flesh was an illusion.
So you took a
workshop in Bali
with a non-duality master who used to be
a tennis pro named Marvin
but calls himself Ananda now,
and spent the
whole $5000 weekend
reminding you that he teaches Nothing
because there is no one to teach.
You felt guilty when you cancelled his check
and 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 a cynic, 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.
Listen through the darkest hours
to raven croak and owl wing whisper,
embodying the howl of grandma coyote,
until you're lost enough to cry,
'I am home, I am home!'
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