Come, kneel beside me in the circle,
something’s just about to sparkle
through our minds and strike us dumb
or madly vocal.
Come, bow your head down to the mirror.
Those rolls of banknotes now, it’s clearer,
are meaningless, for you are God,
with such an aura!
We all are God, the truth now dazzles,
since God is Consciousness and sizzles
through the universe, and Death
no longer puzzles.
Step through the door. Stroll with me via
the pineal gland, around a higher
astral plane where nature works
on a different layer.
Jump, psychonauts! Jump through the portal
where the fact that we’re immortal
is a fact, is common sense,
is past rebuttal.
Spring up and down with me like manic
pixels round an electronic
screen, aware that’s what we are,
although organic.
Pain, lust, bitterness and anger,
all things that exist no longer.
Peace, Love, Meaning, flood the soul
and crush all hunger.
This earth, this chimneyed lamplit outcrop,
is a twee fictitious backdrop,
a holiday-camp town-in-a-town
with a tiny cake-shop.
The clouded train-tracked terra firma
outside is just the dream of Brahma,
that omnipresent Billy Butlin,
that wild dreamer.
Bounce further down the secret passage
from that crackling, fizzing sausage
your brain, where through a hole in space
there’s pinned a message:
Our lives are not just random farces.
Yes, we’re carts, but also horses.
Life feeds karmic growth and feeds
the universes.
And every living thing’s united
in the tapestry that’s knitted
from the thread of hard-fought Love
we’ve all created.
