We seem to be sitting still,
but we are actually moving,
and the fantasies of phenomena
are sliding through us,
like ideas through curtains.
They go to the well of deep love
inside each of us.
They fill their jars there
and they leave.
There is a source they come from,
and a fountain inside here.
Be generous and grateful.
Confess when you're not.
We cannot know
what the divine intelligence has in mind.
Who am I,
standing in the midst of this
thought-traffic?
