When I dial your number in desperation

I am calling from the top of the peach tree

Gathering fruit in my dream of attachment

As if you belonged to me, or I belonged to you

ever – we are God’s

Or if there is no God – we are nothing

So choose

But do not live delusional swinging from branches

Like this one or that will matter – doctrine is a trick the mystics could see through

But you and I

We have been like two donkeys living in separate fields

breying across the fences

I have called to you, “Come to this higher pasture where I graze so the springtime floods do not wash you away,”

because I did not see the wider reality

no matter where pastured, we are still two stupid asses, not harmoniously joined enlightened creatures

The only way into unity  is to stop all the talking and concern for what will be,

and surrender the illusion of control