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MYSTIC POET

β€œTHE ART OF BECOMING!” *You*

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I am Nothing,

but since I’m yours,

Something I’ve become

Nothing’s happening,

But I’m experiencing – being a big bum.

Nothing’s here; this is an illusion, but if I am asleep,

The dream is real, and I can suffer;

I’m in it pretty deep.


Why do we suffer this illusion?Β 

I can’t tell you why,

But you can listen to the gurus – to open up your eye.

I am Nothing;

you are Nothing,

but believing makes it so,

That we affirm ourselves as real.Β 

I wish you friend, not foe.


How can you love what is not here?

Β Β How can you call me Sweetie Dear?

It is your choice, or is it mine,

To have you as my Valentine?


If we are going to act this silly and make ado of naught,

You’d better hold my hand quite tight and kiss me quite a lot,

For we do open ourselves up to crashing ocean waves,

And either one of us may fall to rantings and raves.


So, when I lose my footing,

and it will happen too,

Please lay my head within your lap;

I’m sure to be entirely blue

Until you’ve whispered kindly and I regain my bearing,

To recollect that I am Nothing,

yet Something springs from caring.


How can you love what is not here?

How can you call me Sweetie Dear?

It is your choice, or is it mine,

To have you as my Valentine?