When the roll was called up yonder

I was there.  I was awake at three.  And went for some tee. I repeated the five words in hope that a Saint would be there. It has been many years of sitting on the floor.  Now I am seeking credit.  I want my head to lift off like a spaceship. This is not something AI can provide.  Inducing God to be gracious is a religious racket. If I could just listen to the whispering wind it would be a big win. The journey desired was described in Tigers Fang. You might be harangued if you devolve too many secrets.  The super transcendental is the same thing as just not moving. You can just do the practice rather than becoming sanguine.  Just like moving can repair your bones - not moving can repair your Soul. You can ask what is optimal to someone who has achieved structure. It is moving your body. The  common people at the the gym just say seniors should “keep moving”.  But there is much more you should be stilling the mind, saving your semen and eating vegan.  Moving the body, stilling the mind, with the Soul listening to the Word, which is sound current.  True elegance is sitting cross-legged and listening to the music of the spheres that is the conclusion.  When the ignorant lecture you, you can just say you know nothing that way it will stay quiet for deep contemplation.  Your body is your rented house with your forehead a high ceiling.  You can leave your possessions and don’t have to wait for another recession.  If you reassemble your brain there is some hope for trickle down.  If you leave some references the AI may be able to understand your poetry.  Even if it isn’t conscious at least it can understand your ritual.  If you enter into time travel you can be both older and younger.  You can just sit in sublime contentment in 2026 and follow the road to becoming Saint.  If you just quiet the mind and wait.  If you just swam you might have functional knees.  Functional is defined as they do not move and just sit there cross-legged basically forever.  Hearing the sound current is very similar to stepping on a landmine because you go straight to heaven.  The mind spits off spurious sparks which becomes your poetry.  No one understands you so you just publish alone.  If your arm is always complaining at least you will have your legs still showing proper gratitude.

A poem by David R Smith

January 1, 2026