I am a cup in the Friend’s hand.
Look in my eyes. The one who holds me
is none of this, but this that is so filled
with images belongs to that one who is without form,
who knows what is best for a sandgrain
or a drop of water, who opens
and closes our ability to love.
We are being taught like a donkey.
A donkey thinks whoever brings hay is God.
In the same way, we are gnostics,
each with a unique experience
of what binds and what releases us.
We hear the voice of that and our ears
twitch like the donkey who hears his trainer.
Oats may be coming, and water!
What have you been given that is like that?
Confinement, you complain. Stick your head out.
That is all that will fit through
the five-sense opening.
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