Outside the dream

Outside the dream                                                                                            
 
This poetry is never quite true.
That doesn’t mean it’s worthless.  
 
It’s simply part of the dream. 
This poetry functions on many levels. 
 
I couldn’t tell you what they are.
There’s some truth to them, though;
 
they come (so I believe) from Reality, no more false
or true than anything else once it’s in the dream.
 
We can’t step outside the dream to view the dream.
We can’t step outside ourselves to view ourselves. 
 
We are always a creative part of what we see.
Reading this poem, it becomes a part of your dream,
 
a part of your truth, however erroneous it might be.
It becomes another part of the only
 
(somehow) dream there is –
both true and false; neither true nor false.
 
O child of God, speaking of the Mystery
your words become equivocal gibberish.