Each of these thoughts still like glue,

Gathering dirt and debris like a cleaning device,

One without a pan to empty me,

Like Velcro.  

 

Materials sticks and stays forever.

Yet the good ones are like Teflon,

Sliding around,

Being shared with everyone,

Without resistance,

As each contains no judgement,

Venom, or resistance.

 

Just love.

 

So it was with the mystic,

Who emptied herself so God could flood in,

And roam around willingly,

In an empty, non-dualistic vessel.

 

The one I want to be.