Are we buried in a cosmic illusion,
Without awareness of spirit, dead men walking?
Perhaps hypnotic state or coma would better describe it,
For even in coma there are vestiges of life.
Yet some bear the brunt of suspecting or knowing our situation,
Open to the onslaughts divine desperation and longing.
For isn't there some knowing beyond what I think I am,
And profound, deep joy in such recognition?