THREE THINGS ARE LEFT TO ME

Compassion, gratitude, acceptance of what is.  Is equals God.  The vast, multi-dimensional tapestry of  "is" I will never comprehend.  I can only feel - eternity around me - infinity - everything - such beauty, such horror.  Such mediocrity, which may only be the corner of the painting where a mouse sits and grooms its whiskers while a television blasts DANCING WITH THE STARS.  A C-level celebrity with a big butt, so stretched with plastic surgery there's probably a little knob made out of skin in the middle of her back.  She wears a scarlet min-balloon and dances with a tuxedoed man who looks like he works at an Arthur Murray studio in Schenectady, New York.  Polar ice caps festooned with pretzels where white bears contemplate their imminent demise - energy and matter constantly merging.  I am stuck here for the moment.  Ego mind still worried because the saint is such a sinner, and someone is going to figure that out.  Going up to where vast clouds drift through the universe.  All the changes - all the objects breaking down to infinitely small powder - all the bursts of love from broken hearts creating rainbows in the misty sky.