The Absolute State of the Divine

Poem:

The absolute state of the divine is an end in itself. It is not there to improve your mind or skin tone. It does not fulfill your desires. It does reduce your stress, but not so you can to work at Bridgewater and then make money faster. At Christmas I just pray for gratitude and nothing more thereafter. I would rather just keep my composure than acquire more leftovers. My letter writing is now commonplace with no automation and is very late. Who would like to go with me to my world of stillness and death? It is an insanely beautiful place. All you have to do is sit with me. I am flying around the outer rim of annihilation. I am like a white moth more like Emily. All my favorite girls are dead so to meet them I have to practice dying. Every day I fall asleep again and have to wake up early and reawaken my giant. My Christmas tree is right inside my head and runs up my spine. Every day is insanely precious to an enlightened mystic, who cashs in all his coupons right away. Just being human is like having a coupon. For 42 years I listened to a lot of words all about the trancendental, now I just prefer to meltdown. You have to be very bright to be Simple or actually. My only real interests are words, Simran and Sufi Symbols. If it leads me to Arabic so be it. No one can follow me where I am going. I am always in a hurry, but at the same time don’t have a worry. If I sit for a long time after a while I am able to concentrate. If you pray all the time eventually maybe God will feel sorry for you. Don’t worry if you do all the time Simran you won’t disappear rather you will actually become somebody. All-the-time Simran is how you get the instant-on Third Eye. Isn’t that what you want? If you start meditation at 3am by Sunrise you could be enlightened. I prefer a Guru who is a Poet and can write in Persian. Your main activity could be to open up the gateway in your head. Poetry is just spurious sparks hard coded. After you are dead there is nothing to do but study Sufism. James Joyce was a fool who had a moo-cow. Modern literature is only for people with tenure. I don’t read the stuff now that I am old now. DS Poem December 24, 2018 How happy is the little Stone That rambles in the Road alone, And doesn't care about Careers And Exigencies never fears— Whose Coat of elemental Brown A passing Universe put on, And independent as the Sun Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute Decree In casual simplicity— by Emily Dickinson