Spirit speaks

I’m writing poems again.
A sure sign that my spirit is returning
Or is it me that is returning to it?

The fact that I refer to my spirit as ‘it’
Is a dead giveaway for who’s speaking

Does spirit speak?

And am I that spirit?
Would not I have more certainty if that were so?
Or am I in fact both spirit and matter?

Not wanting anymore to fling my body aside
Like a silk shirt on a hanger
Flapping disconsolately in the wind.

No, now I want to inhabit this body
Occupy this physical space
Make my Presence felt

An unmanifested vision is but a fantasy.
I see too much in the eyes in my head
And feel too little of what’s in here.
In here things are different.
Saner. Holier.
It is wholly I speaking
And when I speaks
I speaks with Love.
Love loves death,
and Love loves life
And God is a whisper away,
on the next pillow……