Each of these thoughts still like glue,
Gathering dirt and debris like a cleaning device,
One without a pan to empty me,
Materials sticks and stays forever.
Yet the good ones are like Teflon,
Being shared with everyone,
As each contains no judgement,
Venom, or resistance.
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.