The hypersphere, and its contents, project
into 4D; the Neanderthal, fishes,
animals, trees, and plants i collect
would be me, happy to do what He says,
and, because I am happy, so are they.
So what of the bully? He is not me,
but, rather, a happy devil that I delay,
when, in heaven, I suffer to be free.
The bully, then, does not really exist—
indeed, no devil does; he is the means
by which the people unite, and persist,
determined, hence, to be what He weans,
a content, satisfied, link in the chain,
privy to the things, in 5D, that we see,
a part of us, with everything to gain.
A collective consciousness, unto me—
my collective unconscious, to be exact;
they are a function of my mind, working
on all cylinders, all aware, in fact,
in their capacity, of the life we bring.
They live at the same fundamental level
in us all, asking questions we answer,
as a whole, all subject to His spell,
the knowledge that, in Him, we all concur.
The Neanderthal is a building block,
a fundamental unit—part of each soul,
in on the secrets, the feelings, we clock,
when, in heaven, we achieve our goal—
to be more like Him, the pyramid’s eye,
the real, actualized manifestation
of our entire race. Nothing to deny,
leave out, obfuscate, punish, or shun—
all living things, rolled up into one.
No contradiction—they experience
what we know, and, in thought, someone
specific, down to me, is what I sense—
finding a unique existence, after death,
in someone’s particular dream,
part and parcel of His ongoing breath,
a stitch, i think, in an ongoing seam.
So come all ye saints, living in them,
unique, one moment, to a person’s thought,
and, in the next, subject to the stem,
common ground, the life we bought
when, as a whole, we thought of others,
determined to source our next great event,
treating ourselves as sisters and brothers,
that which, for us all, was heaven sent.
So if a shade passes through, in disdain,
and makes me temporarily sad,
his hate is the love that i have to gain,
when, by choice, I choose to be glad.