No Dream for Tao

You cannot eff the ineffable! You are not universal but I am. Deconstruction too begins at home.

As every wind cries Maya, my every shiver cries for Shakti. You say relativity. I say fake news.

If love is like the one perceiving double apperceiving all is single, zero is just that.

If free will can will what free will is free to will, then why isn't your free will just willing freedom?

It may be late May but where have all the frogs gone?  Altering consciousness is the scarlet letter.

All means of deconstruction rest outside the law but within love. And so I say unto myself, don't join them in division.

Unjoin them in one. Unjoin from your projection. Unjoin from the joint chiefs of staff god love them.

The personal is the little dream. Being is the big dream. No dream for Tao.

When the ghost of love appears, and questions if you know her, do not beg of her to listen.

Great love appears to be our tragedy but always is my comedy. Wilderness is in the eyes of the beholder. Mary and the silence of the frogs.

In the Mary month of May, mother of god, blessed be our flowering in self-awareness.

Remember, only the paradoxical is real. Three is the only paradoxical number that you've never seen. Blessed is the holy trinity of me you and I.

The personal is false. Truth is universal. Deconstruction is the holy spirit. But deconstruction without love is genocide.

Apple. Orange. Consciousness. Shiver as two. Feel like one. Let us dream as if pure awareness is being self-aware. Imagine that.