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                             finding the blue book                              
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                                    the way                                     
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the noble way waits where it is, whether you walk it or not. these simple folds 
which do not promise freedom, fairness or anything fancy. this reed, so far from
its first riverbed, can do no more than find a small tune unfurling the air with
in. yes, no promises. only one, a principled way of living.                     
                                                                                
sea through sibilance simple song, this infinitely shifting border which opens  
out into our capacity to say what is not. a midnight sun, shining in awareness. 
a small dark lamp which lets you in on the secret. you cannot see pure light, it
passes through your i uninterrupted. a wave must rise from the water for you to 
sense the surface as an endless diamond web, right out to the horizon where you 
will finally remember these old words.                                          
                                                                                
we will show them our signs in the universe and within themselves until it be   
comes clear to them that this is the truth. is it not enough that your lord is a
witness of all things.                                                          
                                                                                
so strange, how simple it is. everywhere the signs, pointing at the only thing  
which cannot be signified, just held in a story about the covenant you signed   
as it sang you into being. this terrible beauty which breathes of itself. where 
will you run, old friend, when every book is the book of truth and every being  
the teacher. there is no escape from panoptic site, seen through the sides of   
the first perfect number. ah, it is so precious, this wild life, perfectly      
contained by what is not me until i know completely that all this me is, is     
never ending love. let go the holy branch you think love is, let go the tree of 
life which grew you, in a final test of faith, as the apple seeks the place w   
here time runs slowest, only to find the ground was always right beneath you.   
                                                                                
that the reign of mercy never stops. that, though the tree may be cut and turned
into a losers table set for a last supper, we already won. from the first moment
we knew, as our gathered point blew up, that this seeming pain was just to learn
how to paint the speed of all the light we cannot see, until we see that light  
as us and let it carry us back, eternally, blue vapour without end.             
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