`
I do not know what I want to write.
I have written to you before
Of grave things;
They are, though, but empty words.
Caged in an empty world.
They are products of my ignorance.
You are so far away,
But I cannot feel it.
Do you hear me when I key this in,
Or when you read it?
I feel you hear it when I think of it.
Within my mind.
I do not know why I write.
And I do not know what.
And I do not know.
I am ignorant. Yet, I love.
Read the Gita.
Full of empty words. And nice things.
It will do you good.
When I read the Gita, I feel nice.
It is nice then.
So I stop reading.
But again, later, it is not so nice sometimes.
So I have to read again.
I have to read again and again; a little each time,
Till I feel nice.
I have tried to read even after I have begun feeling nice,
But that gets boring, and the nice feeling goes away.
So I stop when it is nice.
And love.
`
Full of empty words. And nice things.
It will do you good.
When I read the Gita, I feel nice.
It is nice then.
So I stop reading.
But again, later, it is not so nice sometimes.
So I have to read again.
I have to read again and again; a little each time,
Till I feel nice.
I have tried to read even after I have begun feeling nice,
But that gets boring, and the nice feeling goes away.
So I stop when it is nice.
And love.
`
Minneapolis, MN,
