A Hole in Heaven

Self-help is a joke.

What we have are strings

that align our wishes with what we do

and don't do. How long can we keep

the tension? Escape from histories stored

in the contours of your pupil, cling to the monolith

of your imagined power. No contentness

in action.

You hold on to yourself as if you were alive.

You give away yourself as if you were dead.

Stand away from what you have been told,

learned, given. Step back and you dissolve

with what has been counted: past, present, future.

What oneness do you hear there?

When you are

nothing, mystery becomes

your being.

Don't tell anyone

who you are.

They can never understand.

They want

to be something.