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Two men
 
             have told me The Meaning of Life
one a Lecturer in Metaphysics, the second
a burnt out case.
 
The Case walked into the University
asked to see the Professor of Philosophy
while he waited he told me the Meaning
was two bus rides away, under a bridge
he had diagrams that would help. Though
I never studied his many pentangles
the college porters insisted he keep them
as they walked him out.  This happened
every year or two: a new thinker
his influences’ chemical.
 
The Lecturer’s logic followed Aristotle.
He told me how he woke one morning
in a New England hotel room to realise
all our acts of waking are indistinguishable 
not the facts of linen and street noise
but our encounter with Consciousness
and the same with our common touch
on any of our planet-large abstractions
not the one we trust but Trust
not the beloved but Love
shared, undivided
all one.

 

 

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