Premonitions from my mind’s eye

allowed me to see here and there,

nowhere and everywhere,

like a Cyclops on the move.

Transcending every galactic bulge,

my pockets were full of stars.

My spirit whirled like a dervish

from the Bras d’Or Lakes to Patagonia.

Overcoming time and space,

I picked up the scent of malodorous

machinations of evildoers,

called the FBI and CIA.

I saw nematodes on the planet Europa,

listened to the story of the Bhagavad Gita,

meditated to the music of the Mahabharata.

I spied more nebulae and fiery hearts

of distant stars than the Alma telescope.

My inner realms lined up the chakras

of my kundalini to keep me clairvoyant.

I could even detect quarks

and the numinous presence

of angels walking the earth.

Now I can’t even see them in heaven,

I bumble along monotonously

like everybody else.

Since my cataract hardened,

Tarot cards, tealeaves, and the I Ching

remain my only connection

to the spiral galaxies of the cosmos.

Consciousness is now just a word.