Alexander the Great found the philosopher looking attentively at a pile of human bones. 

Diogenes explained, “I am searching for the bones of your father but cannot distinguish 

them from those of a slave.’ 

I spend my time in the twilight in the disguise of some alien being who everyone else looks upon with the eyes of confusion and I look back with the same look of perplexity and astoundment. Who am I? Are your idols passionate? I am passionate! And so the sweet fruit falls from the trees and split in two and the seeds of the great questions of life go searching for what they already know…Now you are drunk on the afternoon with the moaning moon and clear sky. 

I am tender and I am kind to the drops of wishes that spread over the earth like saints and seducers who in their hour of fun turn passion into wine and wine into love. What do you make of love? I have never been in love! 

All day I hear the noises of birds singing the sad sea and the waves crashing to no man’s land. Where am I now? 

The thunder has brought you to your knees. 

Where am I? Where is my great love? Young life is sleeping among the trees and a child is born to the wind and air. 

The child is green with the head of electric hair and the people stare! O they stare at the magical wonder of time and fair. 

Speak to my body and the space is empty. Where art thou? What riches do you speak of? 

I despise riches! 

I sit upon the lips of the earth. 

And they laugh! Drink their juice! What language must one speak not to be alone? I must understand perhaps I am perfect and I express it perfectly? 

What makes one think they are alien to their home? I think maybe I have no patience for the expressions of ignorance? 

There is hope beyond ourselves and within us the spirit born anew and the wider experience between us is no great distance and there is no need for such proof. We must feel it! Everywhere ourselves melt into our own hearts, burning for that bond that connects man to all things. All forms composed of bright purity and those who vibrate with our own unique voices. 

I must cherish the flowers grown of yellow air. 

My friends with half thought whose invisible height molds with the gentle motions of charm and human sight I see you in the distant breath of the stars and I sing from afar as all aliens do.