Balance

Balance

left and right,

above and below.

Balance male
and female,
your angel on
one palm,
your demon on
the other.

Grace wears a blindfold.

The scales of justice

are empty.

Now press them together

gently in a prayer.

Rooted and soaring.

Weeping and laughing.

Warrior and monk.

A mountain floating
in the sky.

Many souls, one self.

Perhaps you encounter
a moth-winged elephant
in your back yard
at midnight
after drinking a cup
of tea made from

seven hollow cocoons.
You are lifted up by

rainbows of possibility.
Distant stars dissolve
in those open hands.
But how will you stay?

How will you remain
fixed at the center

of all these swirling creatures?

Dance wildly.

Stumble and fall.
Lose your wits and let them
wander everywhere.
Repose ecstatically  
in who you already are
the moment you wake up

at dawn
with no mind
of yesterday.
And if you must resume
the counting,
just keep counting
to One.