Don't worry, restless cricket.
Don't worry, dragonfly who can't quite
get still on your sunlit cattail.
Don't worry, implacable circling hawk,
skittish rabbit, obsessed politician.
Nor you, sleepless seed, smoldering
all Winter with desire.
I have surrendered on your behalf.
I have immersed you
in the beauty of this breath.
A bud cannot imagine what a petal
is.
The apple was the pain inside a flower.
Neither stamen nor pistil, leaf nor pollen
have any I who says, "I am a rose."
Therefore, enjoy your voice, O you
who have been selved!
Your ego is delightful.
It speaks for those who don’t know how.
Be the song of a wanderer heard
in a dream.
Let there be no outrage in the valley
between your thoughts,
only a well of compassion to heal
ten thousand light-years of darkness.
Listen to the stream of nectar
oozing up your root.
Witness the dance of the royally adorned
scarlet poppy in the meadow of your spine.
Be a troubadour whose lips are parted,
yet whose name is never quite spoken.
There is an eye beyond night, awareness-sky
unfathomed by mind.
This is seen through That alone.
A time will come when
gazing is fire
consuming the seen in the seer,
singeing the most intimate veil
of the gossamer difference
between inside and out.
When the moon is only the moon,
the cricket delights in rubbing his wings,
and your silence outshines singing.
When the rabbit ascends, surrendered
to the hawk, the time of the fallen apple,
sweet juices bubbling in the sun.
Then the worm appears.
All that remains is a hole.
Yet we need holes to fill with music.
Dear friend, in all that vanishes, still,
you can taste the one clear sap.
Call it sorrow. Call it joy.
______________________
Listen to this poem here: LINK
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