Shatter The Glass

If you're looking 

for a surrogate mommy

or daddy,

then get a manikin. 

Decorate the thing 

with rudhraksha beads,

a white dhoti, sandals,

long hair, and perhaps 

a wise beard.

Be sure to paint bright eyes 

 and set two jewels 

in the pupils.

Seat it on a couch 

surrounded by gladiolas and 

ten thousand chanting devotees.

When you're no longer

scared and lonely,

pack the thing up in a pile of sticks

and burn it.

Throw the ashes in the Ganges

with other dead bodies.

Or crucify it on a cross.

That was Jesus,

you're looking for the Christ.

If you meet the Buddha on the road,

kill him.

That was Gautama, your looking

for the Diamond Anatta.

Now breathe down into

the temple of your diaphragm. 

Shatter the looking glass

with all its idols, images, 

reflections of the "I" 

who isn't there

and become what you are, 

the "Am," 

shining without a mirror.

Don't worry,

you'll still have a self:

the ocean in a drop.

Why try to understand?

Just inhale.

Spread the crazy holographic 

rainbow wings of your heart,

and let this tiny drop

contain all the tears 

of the universe.