The First FourHundred Poemsof a Compulsive Obsessive Ideational Psychotic

Who heals bruises cuts and hurtsWho cooks meals and stitches skirtsWho’s aware of every trickAlways strong and never sick

Who cleans up your youthful messwho cures wrongs and comes to blessWho shows up to see your showGuides you as you come and go

Who encourages your deedsAlways there to meet your needsWho is sad if you should cryWho is happy when you try

Who is she who gives her timeForgives you for your naughty crimeIgnores the worst and sees the bestWelcomes you back to the nest

Who is she who can’t be soldCan’t grow tired and can’t grow oldWho still loves you if you’re oddYour her child and she’s a god

Mothers have a thankless jobNot like that of uncle BobHe’s a hero she’s a slaveJust like Christ she lives to save

Remember this: That when a door closesIt’s not because you made a mistakeFor as it closes other doors openInviting you to come and partake

When doors open there is always gladnessGladness for the wish that came trueFor here it seems the chance of a lifetimeHas finally emerged to court you

When doors close quite often there’s sadnessAnd a mourning for the “What could have been”For departed is the brightest of futuresWhere the grass seemed so much more green

Sometimes the door closes slowlyAnd spirits exit feeling no painSometimes the door closes quicklyAnd spirits curse the freezing cold rain

Remember this: That when a door closesThere’s not a whole lot you can doExcept rest and relax so you’re ready to maxWhen the next door opens for you

Though your path leads you deep in the forestThis path you will not walk aloneFor I will walk with you awake and in dreamsUntil you can walk there on your own

As reality is experiencedOnly in the presentAnd

As one’s intellectualization of the experienceOf the presentCannot take place simultaneouslyWith one’s ‘experiencing’ of the present

Reality is experienced purelyAt a sensory/emotional levelPerpetuallyIn the presentBy a silent mindFree of internal intellectual dialogue