Here comes the sound of the rocknroll mew-sack raging towards ya in bee-bops buzzin’ in waves led by the queen to the caves and it’s comincomincomin til’ it’s here do you hear? I said, do you hear? Who is the life of this rocknroll part-hey? Where you Atman? Oh here it comes again and away we go!
Ok let’s get one thing straight, straight as the bumble bee lines. (Do you hear the chorus sounds? I said, do you hear?) I roam you roam we all roam for ice cream, life seems something like light beams from the starzzz, from the sunson, from ol’ silver hair herself. I look up she looks down we meet in a frown. There’s a point to this, the ol’ silver linin’ round the black words. But maybe you don’t see it because all you see is yourself, whatever that is. Computer screen mirror. But what do you see–yea, YOU. You see me and thus you becomes me but I’m me so you can’t be me. Get it? The Self is not someone other than you. So stop trying to be me, you hear? I said, do you hear? Yea, I hear you. I heard you before you spoke. Now hear me. For once.
Back to my point. Way way back. Before I began. There is my point. Before and after. Don’t you know by now my point? No, of course not: like I mentioned back in the winter’s fall of some December night one year more than one year ago, I scream into voids. No matter; it’s not about you. It’s about me. But I am you, you are me, we are one, a part of this all, a part of me all. Oh, fiddles. I’ve gone and confused myself again. So said Shandilya. There is my point. Right there on my flesh: the meaning of June, the explanation of everything; the indivisible, right there on the man-made flesh; the imperishable upon the finite cave. But you don’t see that; you’re too busy thinking up silly games to satisfy your misguided ego. A child in a mucked up sandbox. Oh happy day. Oh sad day.
Let us direct our deepest desires to realize the Self.
Nuff-4-now. Too much for you. I walk in light towards light, the dark above me below me not before me. Go to the light of the Self. Look at all these things I can do. If you draw pictures can I write words? Or can I write words and you draw pictures? How about an Adam Kadmon for the 21st century? Follow Adam when he begins to speak. If he hasn’t already. Our language begins before we are born if we are born at all we are born into it as it. Ok? Ok.
What happened to the rocknroll? It rolls on in spite of you, I guess. I can’t explain this, but I’ll try, he’ll try, we’ll all try for ice cream.
Clearly I have a lot to say, so LISTEN TO ME. You hear? I said, do you hear?