I am real to my soul,
so deep asleep
it knows not yet
that it is dreaming.
I believe
the moves I make
the words I speak
the thoughts I think
and yet
My floating self,
the one which breathes all life
through and out my mouth and nostrils,
seems to know
different,
To know
differently
from me
Whom I believe so ardently
and right on the tip of my mind
there underlies
a question,
a yearning,
a passion and, ultimately,
a knowing –
That I am the dreamed,
my dreamer asleep where I live,
way within, far beyond,
in a whole ‘nother mind
without time
without space
without direction or fear,
where I live unenclosed
in flesh,
unembraceable by death,
just entranced and entangled
in this life which I dream