The Little Man

A little man once told me,
so old was he that he,
could not see or hear too well,
but he was One to me,

He told me that to be,
as old as he then was,
had more to do with listening
than talking words of fuzz;

For words are twice removed from truth,
they mostly speak but lies,
the hearer hears what he just wants,
then his mind interprets-replies;

Yet being is beyond the words,
the thoughts we think we think;
a state of pureness without thought,
a joy of Love complete;

I looked at him, he looked at me,
no word we spoke but we,
where totally enwrapped in Love,
no separate thoughts were we;

No bodies there, no conflicts,
no issues for to deal,
no winner or a looser stood
no innocence to steal;
The ageless One just smiled at me,
I saw his face was mine,
and I smiled back in confidence,
I knew I was Divine;