The Gossamer Grace of A Blow to the head: Ode To Love and Truth

Grace:

gossamer blue and unintelligible, come back again and again, please.

Visit me on my darkest day.

Waft in, wax poetic, hypnotize me.

A blow to the head would also do.

Somehow, cross my threshold.

Be with me in your ineffable madness, the madness of truth beyond reason,

and pierce through my dross, my

endless fantasies, the wit I use to fool myself.

Break my chains of logic, my fuzziness, my affair with the God of Sleep.

Morpheus and I are having issues.

Without you, Love, I simply float down on the back of air.

Like a leaf floating drunkenly downward on a windless day, I drift.

With your shocking interventions,

like a blast of wind landing me outside myself,

I am flooded, again and again, with everything's everything-ness. The swoon of the dharma, the truth, the light, returns.

Give to me strands of truth, in measures I can chew, sort, and grok.

And give it to me straight -- bludgeon me, as the spring bludgeons winter, and the summer bludgeons spring.

Keep gnawing upon my calloused edges, and wake me.

Wake me.