Gazing at the Light

The lamps are different, But the Light is the same. So many garish lamps in the dying brain’s lamp-show, Forget about them. Concentrate on the essence, concentrate on the Light. In lucid bliss, calmly smoking off its own holy fire, The Light streams towards you from all things, All people, all possible permutations of good,

As though Never

Tenderness shredded by razor shards of ice Essence heals without scar As though never touched Remaining soft hearted

The Path

Once I set foot on the path, the destination, became of no concern. The objective became the experience of all that I encountered on my way It became clear that it was not I that set foot on the path But that I have been and am being led The vistas breathtaking The obstacles heartbreaking

The Seeker

I’ve looked under chairs I’ve looked under tables I’ve tried to find the key To fifty million fables chorus: They call me The Seeker I’ve been searching low and high I won’t get to get what I’m after Till the day I die I asked Bobby Dylan I asked The Beatles I asked Timmothy Leary

Heaven or Hell

The place where mystics dwell where artists and poets know so well The truth incomprehensible Reality unfathomable is it heaven or is it Hell