The Dream
Oh Father, Source, connect with us,come speak Your song of gentleness,
You look upon us, smile and say,
"what could be wrong, this perfect day?"
"But You who seems so far away,"
the Angry One, to whom we pray,
What could we say but "we are weak,
we seek a crumb of love, not hate."
So God replies, His joy pronounced,
a silence space, surrounds, announced:
"you made it up, your dream of hates,
to see in others, your wish creates."
"but there is so much in the world,
to catch and trap me, make me curl,
You made me weak, You made small,
smaller than You, to see me fall."
Now God in His rebundant care,
can see no ill, from His vantage there,
He knows we've never left His care,
and dreams of fear, aren't really there.
"but God" say I, "why would you make,
a creature small, to make mistakes,
to trap, to plot against, to kill,
you must not love at all --You're ill."
To God there's not a thought of blame,
He knows we're One, not two, The Same,
We have the power, to dream anew,
so let's choose joy, not pain, renew!
We must want this, for every soul,
no one's excluded from Love's enfold,
if we would keep just one apart,
the whole is lost, to us in heart.
For we are One, as God did make,
Not two or three, for blame to stake,
a peg of hate in every heart,
to push our guilty dream apart,
from us, who seem to wait for death,
that we can blame You for this mess.
Lost in a world of seeming joy,
the trail we've chosen to sexplore,
we seek and seek, yet never find;
new candy seems to thrill the mind;
Yet we do hide from Love's great call,
to enter One, with Him and All,
to let go of, our littleness,
the self we made, in separateness,
To be apart, to be alone,
we killed the One
to make our home.
Now in our guilt, we push it out,
to everyone we see without,
that we ourselves are innocent,
and they're to blame,
they're effluent.
The pleasure-pain is but our wish,
to hide from guilt, in body bliss,
we think we hurt God, when we left,
our guilt in mind, now buried theft,
We stole from You, taking Your life,
into a world we made for strife,
to push outside of us, our guilt,
and hide it all amongst the silt.
Our path now seems to vacillate,
from Love's sweet song, to copulate,
from mother's gentle hand we hold,
to knives of steal and heart of cold;
Seems like we want to hide some more,
new candy yet to thrill and soar,
to hide here where we can project,
our guilt made-up, of fear, to whit
Yet Love, it calls, It's Own back home,
And One we are,
We're not alone.