I can tell you something about seership. It involves surrender. You own nothing; you are nothing. You are a vase without a bottom Which the universe passes through.

This is the song of the flute, The flute without blood. Emptied of all things, you sing the song of the gods And life moves through you to its points and secret destinations.

Things appear, rise up and rear their heads Like flesh and water, blood and wine That we grasp, and before us recede like ghosts.

This world is a spectre; before all, is your name. Holding onto nothing, knowing nothing The world presents images, symbols before you. A hidden book of lights and messages. Individuals and encounters With lizards and signs Through which we must decode.

The poet is the seer who continuously empties the vessel of the body to experience God. Like Ezekiel upon the rocks, or Jacob Or Isaac The prophetic lineage is passed to each who empties himself Before God.

We take nothing with us As the lights spin And show us what we must see. We who came to this theatre of the gods to have visions come before us And to spill the great encounter of our souls. I behold nothing and I cast nothing And I allow the vision to pour from me Like a transducer.