Of a need to find an adequate
Symbol the great white bird
Passed from meaning and my roof.
When the spell of others is broken
The residues, of past lives and
Tribes you gave your soul to
Become malleable enough to move.
Still there's the stick
The master hits you with
That removes more than it inflicts
As he raps the marble floor
To scatter the karma
And conjure the benevolent wind
And the breastplates of the terracotta
Warriors' harmonized with dharma
Although we cringe, at how the outside
Bears down upon the house
And wrap our Easter crucifix in red
To repent for repentance, dust for dust.
The mercy is seeing how we went off course,
Seeing who we are by what is taken away,
All but the inner quiet
Has always been empty.
It is holy to let go, that's how
We become clean, repent for all
By tolerating everything, by believing
They receive enough love
And we notice we are noticing
And can exist that way without a prompt,
Until the stick no longer comes down fiercely
And we can tell what exists and what does not
And so we transcend the cycle of life
And death, because we have the proof
In a hand that no longer needs to act
And has nothing to prove.
