In meditation
my mind wanders,
but I don't.
In meditation
the moth keeps dancing
around the flame.
The moth is the Lord.
I am the flame.
In meditation
the sea is wild
and the boat is small.
It is a dangerous crossing.
The ferryman paddles
furiously.
My back to the waves,
I sit in the bow
calling to the boatman,
"Follow me!
I will lead you to the other shore
where my Mother is waiting.
She will pay you well."
In meditation
when you touch
that other shore,
the ferryman awakens.
There is no ocean, no boat,
no passenger.
Only the Mother
singing the waves,
wearing the dark
blue veil
of the boatman's breath.
Painting: Monet, Cliffwalk at Pourville
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