a conversation with the third eye

i've been listening to a lot of sarah harmer today.
some things in my life don't change.
she's always been my solace when i feel like shit and right now
everything is hard,
everything rubs me the wrong way,
everything is made of shards
of noxious plastic which melt as soon as they splinter skin.
call it the wind or the full moon
or the flickering, fidgeting ovum.
call it destitution or matter
over spirit, call it a sin,
call it gluttony, call it pride,
call it sloth. call it futility, a moth
at the porch light, wings
singed by the fire but still beating.
whatever. any of these will fill the hole,
but only part way.

the sun sets. the sun rises.
the sun will keep going until it goes
out and you are not responsible for its burning.
true, you will burn while the sun burns but the sun will outlast you.
the dark is scarier but the dark is broken open by moonlight,
which is sunlight also, deflected.
you need to remember this.
this is all you need. the sun.
the salutations.
there is something up there, listening,
though you don't know what it is or under what pretense.
remember the right language.
remember the dry sprawl of the desert letters inside your mouth
beit, yod, nun, hei.
remember their swirl there, into words. a word.
binah, binah.
say it and say it again and something
will answer. it doesn't matter when.