Three blackbirds aren’t enough.
Without a fourth, direction is
completely incomplete.
The west is ceaselessly lost in
trinity.
And one may never know oneself
without those ice floes of true
north.
O sacred vase and holy sake cup,
O Kachinas standing on the surface
of a book case,
O blue guitar, O cactus plant, O
radio,
without you i would never know
that what i am is nothing with
potentiality
for everything within my own intent
to know my own unknowable
existence.
O Parent, Child, and Holy Realizational
Intent,
please accept these great
ten-thousand objects
as another God within your sacred
pantheon,
and let us pray the process is
complete
and now and everlastingly
perpetual.
Where the mind’s objectification is
a vital operation
and the world is just the function run
away within itself.
For hell is only heaven and samsara is nirvana—
so chop God and carry my true self.
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