All I am doing right now is writing these words to you,
small helium-filled balloons
I offer for all those birthdays I missed.

I really don't know where these balloons will take you,
it all depends on YOU --
the way you hold the string
(or maybe there is more than just one string).

Well, of course there is more than one string --
we're talking about balloons,
multiple, not singular.
lighter-than-air-transportation devices.
They may seem to be words, but they are actually balloons.

Go for the ride!
Wherever you end up is the right place to be.
It is! And you are!

Always remember that
and the way butterflies move in a breeze,
and, please tell me, kind madam or sir,
how in the world did butterflies ever get created in the first place
and am I still expected to pay my taxes?

What if I forget my name and wherever I go
gardenias spring up all around me,
hoping as only gardenias can hope,
that one day the one they call the "Master"
will find his way there for no particular reason,
he being completely "of the moment" or perhaps I should say
(and please forgive me if I mess up the translation,
but it goes a little something like this:)

"You were made in the image of God.
You were, you are,
of that you need not have any doubt.
As you are you are."

How great is that!
How simple!

"As you are you are."

I may have to make a t-shirt with those words on it.
Nothing has to change with you!
You don't need to get better
or work smarter or be worthy of anything.

As far as I can tell, you are worthy of EVERYTHING,
though it's always useful to
remember George Carlin's perspective on it:

"If you had everything, where would you put it?"

And now, one last thing before I take my leave:
the best book I've read in quite a while is
Hear Yourself: How to Find Peace in a Noisy World
by Prem Rawat.

So much love! Heaps. Tons. Buckets full.
What Rumi, Hafiz, Mirabai, Kabir, and YOU,
on a good day, are plugged into full-tilt boogy,
walking the high road home to the essence of who you are.

Welcome to the fountain of laughter and tears, my friends,
welcome to remembering and forgetting
and then remembering again,
opening like a lotus
or a clenched fist
or a window.

And with that, dear brothers and sisters,
daughters and brothers, wizards, fools, home run hitters,
flash back Frankies, and little Joey from Brooklyn, I take my leave.

Yo, Joey, how did you find your way into this poem?

Wait, don't tell me. I know why. I really do.
This massive, bodacious love and presence is who and what you are.
How could you be anywhere else?
Welcome Frankie! You da man!

Praise the Lord! And praise the praisers, too!

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