Most of the things I see 

Outside my sliding glass doors 

Are not real,

Just lights playing on the streaks of mud

My dog has left on the pane

From scratching to get in.

Reflections play, inside and out.

Shadows hide. The sunbeams seek the shade.

And I could see so much more clearly 

If I would clean the window,

Or better yet, open the door,

And go outside,

But sometimes I like to deceive myself.

I’m in good company.

The human race stares out 

Through a dirty atmosphere 

To question the cosmos,

To make judgments about our brothers and sisters

Based on strange reflections of ourselves.

But if we could clean up our hearts and love,

If we could open our doors and go out,

If we could slide the pane 

That separates our brains from the cosmos,

Would we see the cosmos scratching to get in? 

Or could we see so clearly how One we already are

With everything?

-jenn