Stream of Khan . . . Science, Ness

The Stream of the Khan . . . the Science, the Ness

Here I am, cup in hand, java warm, ready to dive in—
still present and accounted for in my own moment,
reading a response from the "Side of Truth" to
a "Letter"  that came to me in the Bottle in the River.

The letter was written in "Multivalence" , written
from the perspectives of many beliefs, from
the “Side of Truth” clear through to the aboriginal
side, the side that some say will send you the wrong way.

A thought again wants to invade me but I touch it—
and like a balloon that doesn't pop, it just floats away,
like "Meddle Station"  has to say, it was meditation
that brought me to see the flipping bottle anyway.

I’m in this stream, not of thought but of my own
consciousness, aware of the life within me, aware
of the awareness I seek to find, so hard to pin
down, like where the bird will land on the twig.

Like where my conscience needs to take me,
ever following the every belief, wanting to find
the true Truth, and finding it everywhere. Like
the consciousness that comes from being aware.

Oh all that is who lives in my heart, help me
to understand the Armor Bearer's response!
Help me to be opened like the letter, and
connect with the words within, not within

the letter in the bottle, but within my own heart,
within the tender place that was made fun of
as a boy learning to be a man, and the words within
eventually proved that a True Man lives in the tender place.

Help me tap into the love that the Christians call God,
help me stay in the place that the Muslims call Nirvana,
the place that the Buddhists deem "Awakening,"
the place my puppy abides, especially when she sees me,

the place that the Scientists call Eureka, that
led Edison to the light bulb and Einstein to
recognizing that Euclid was a priest, and
that space is as warped as time and religion.

The place where they decided to make Khan
the supreme ruler of the Tatar Tribes . . . . . they just
had to be in a place of great love, to grant a title
of such respect, a place that I seek to remain,

the place of the Child that Jesus said to become like,
to enter the Kingdom of Heaven, that pattern that connects
all patterns that connect all patterns that connect all . . . .
the Kingdom of Heaven, where My Muse lives.

For in that place the True Man returns, and whispers
to my soul, and my soul listens with pen in hand,
dancing on the paper, waiting for the whispered words
to end with, thus, the bottle—

the letter in the Bottle.