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October 2016, vol 12 no 3

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Autumn Noelle Hall

Digging Deeper


she insists
real satori is white . . .
her dismissive sniff
disdaining like a weed
my crown chakra’s cobalt bloom

She cannot help that personal experience limits her definition of enlightenment to a singular *BING* on the forehead by an island guru who, subsequent to this exclusively bestowed auric blessing, succumbed to the desire to drown himself clean out of this existence.

My own guru-less attempt at an enlightened life includes arising to face again each day the awkward acceptance that I am human and flawed, but for a stubborn and ever-present awareness that this world is a treasure map of endless adventure with X marking: EVERYWHERE.

cussing a blue streak
uprooting a spirea
my favorite
sharpshooter snaps clean in half
—treasure hunting is like that

how it stings
the sweat pouring into
my Third Eye
to each her own blurred vision
of nirvana's perfection


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