do i hide in myself,
behind games,
jokes,
and good books to read?
but i have not found him who you seek,
he is not here.
he is with you,
high in the heavens,
seated in sweet light,
with power and perfect love in abundance.
but these eyes on earth grow weak,
this mind dims,
and thoughts run like foxes in the vineyard of my heart.
holy cross of Christ,
there is more than one whom you bore that blessed night.
hidden with him,
so i died as well,
and when he rose,
so i rose with him.
him whom you seek is not here,
in this body,
with this voice,
on this earth.
he has gone to the heavens,
and this is a dream.
dream of God,
not of man,
and i am lucid,
almost awake,
with power unattainable in reality,
my spirit walks without me,
or is it me?
the unworthy wanderer 