I still sit cross-legged when I travel

Poem:

When I travel I still sit cross-legged and wake up with the sun. I still eat very little. I still eat very late if I found only food that I hate. Any food with a barcode is probably no good. I intone with magic the secret words I got in the woods. When I was born there were shooting stars. If you remember that, how could you have any scars. Inside your head is a secret door. I sing of such secrets even though it could jam up the way. I am stubborn and continue anyway. If you have pure resolve the devils step out of the way. writing mystic poetry is like being electrocuted, but only in your head while your lower body is dead. To sit still for a long time is fundamental. Writing poetry is trivial. An Empty mind is much more Full and not at all dull. Persistent Enlightenment is not for show. First you go to the present then to nowhere. If you first look at the sun and then find the one in your head maybe that is the  right way. My poetry seems random but has structure and is hammered. The rising sun can break open and become my Guru. Sunrises are not trivial but a present from heaven. Poetry reveals an inner property and falls like a slow rain. Prose is like just using a hose. Poetry works better for smelling a Rose. My public time actually is only for six hours. I meditate for six hours and read and write for six hours and sleep for six hours. That leaves me alone for twelve hours and asleep for six. I am not really that friendly to those stuck in this dusty world. It is safe to read a book if the author is already dead. I am not so much into philosophy as simply disappearing into my head. Nonexistence is best while forgetting the rest. Persistence and Passion is the true Holy Roman Emperor. DS Poem August 5, 2018 Lakewood Ohio