The ultimate Realist realizes there is nothing factual
We imagine what we believe that we see
Economy is a figment of the human imagination
There is no punishment but the choices we make
With consequences that are self-prophetic
As we conform each to our particular pattern
Of thought-energy, we write our own Supreme Reality
And live it happily, and die when we must –
God, the never-lived, the never-was, in only
The most powerful imaginations
We are all creative spirits, and our destinies
What name shall we give it which hath no name?
The common eternal matter of the mind?
Everything speaks, and everything remains silent
The lesson was taught long ago on other worlds
Where prophets and Gods remain inverted
In the collective history of a million species
There is an ecstasy in subjectivity
All things but come to go, holy forms unmanifest
The secret God-grin remains etched in our subliminal parts
Stare deep into imaginary things, until
You find no personal separation in it.