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He stopped me one day, tattered briefcase in hand,
to point me toward the path that
travels like a pendulum in two directions.
Words are only pointers toward the Kingdom.
You have to realize that a "holy shit" is clearly holey
but also holy, wholly human.
Lecture is the art of connection as he dances
round the room, a mad frenzy of
line and circle, drawing the web for unaware flies.
Head fall of energy, his white comb-over
rises with excitement when
someone discovers the other side of the mirror.
The waking are not all awake, so many trapped
in a reflection.
But he knows the coin in his pocket is two sided.
The chalk print on his thumb contains the
whole universe.
Lotus blossoms float with his laughter like
Moses in his basket vessel, cradling
a childish wisdom. His eyes are alive with
positive uncertainty, looking everywhere but
straight ahead.
Its called a lazy eye yet it sees more than most.
Tethered to the earth by only a trail of dust,
some call him crazy. I Look and call him
Teacher.
LAURIE HOWER
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