I read Because there is nothing so intimate As falling in love with someone’s mind. The pleasure of sitting And silencing my own inner narrator To be carried on the wind of another’s imagination Is a precious communion of souls That the best part of me hungers for. When I sit down with Walt, I am lifted into the sky— Higher and higher with each poem and thought— To soar like a bird over nations and histories and possibilities With my dear companion Pointing and smiling and offering The best thoughts his mind has ever held. To love another mind Is a wonderful feeling— A wholesome, soul-titillating feeling. Movies, plays, music, These are wonderful in their own Indispensable way. But to strip down everything And take away all the ornaments To experience only a persons pure, Naked stream of consciousness And to find pleasure in that only Is a special gift. I find this same intimacy When I read the scriptures. I pause my own dialogue for awhile— I dam my own relentless stream of consciousness To step inside the mind of my Creator And wash my thoughts in that living water. In this way, too, I am lifted out of and above myself To see things from His perspective, From the birds-eye view of Heaven, From the mind of the Narrator of History. Through the Good Book, I am being freed from the trap Of thinking that my own personal narrative Is the end all be all— The most important and most real. I am lifted out of isolation To join the universal story of redemption. But strangely, rather than make my own thoughts seem less valuable, I've found that, in discovering the love of another mind— Whether it be in the scriptures or elsewhere— I have come to believe in the immeasurable value of my own. I have come to believe that my own thoughts And the lessons gained from my own narrative Are no less worthy of being written down And shared with others. We are meant to resonate together, Your mind and mine and Gods and everyone's In this beautiful and sacred exchange Of what is most near and dear to us: Our thoughts.
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