My ego is not ready to loose you down the stream.
Meanwhile, you, there, on the other side,
dancing in some sunny meadow;
But even stars die;
those that glow between people,
and those that glow within them;
those that fuse in the sky,
and those that churn beneath our feet.
I am not a star, I think.
—I am not a star.
Ground me, Buddha; I am sinning against truth.
If not a star, then an exile.
Cast between the light, that grey, neither good nor bad.
Almost lost, I search for a light within (I am told it is there);
almost found, I search for places I might light.
I am a false dichotomy (we are all a false dichotomy).
But we are not a dichotomy; we force it upon ourselves.
I am projecting
—but it is the truth.