Be a cup
for the grace of the Friend.
Pour and be filled.
Seeking the Master's gaze,
shattering your crown
against those soft brown toes,
is not the path of devotion.
But lifting the weary,
bringing joy
to the brokenhearted,
this is the wayless work.
How near is the Beloved?
The flame of this breath
in your body.
Your task tonight is listening
to the vast black bell
of silence.
Your duty at sunrise,
rejoicing in a sparrow's trill.
Why does the earth spill over
with wild poppies
and tiny forget-me-nots,
each containing the sky?
Because you are awake.
Don't try to understand.
Just be a cup
for the grace of the Friend.
Pour and be filled.
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