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Personal Note:

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Poem

Note to self: In observation where there seems to be nothing there, there is 
always air.  Even without matter there is something for instance light waves.

The spirit of the Divine in me seeks the Ataraxian mode of living  
Although I long for air in my lungs I keep bumping into tables and chairs, 
like an old ghost who has forgotten the use of her legs and arms. 
The elemental carbon  of my living structure is no more matter than 
the air I breathe. Through diffusive meditative qualm, I can almost 
touch its ether, "my being" 
He poured his Numen Spirit long ago inside my stillborn body  
where once I was clear sky, today just brain on forceps. 
Its when I place my breath in the womb of God that my skeptic nature, ?  


to be continued  ? 
By ?

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