How many lifetimes have passed?

From king to pauper,
From bird to worm,
From lovely to plain.

Here, there, and here again.

I once was fair
And bewitched by fairness,
Always attached to spring.

I once was strong
And wrapped up in strength,
Always wanting might.

I once was wise
And obsessed with wisdom,
Always desiring acclaim.

I once was.

And as long as I was,
The worse it was.

And as long as I am,
The same awaits.

And as long as I am,
The truth slips away.

And yet, I recall I.


One season, a country radical spoke to me.
He told me to be more than revenge and clan,
More than custom and household.

He told me God was the same way.

He told me to admire birds and flowers,
To understand the easy handiwork
Of an ever-waiting Father.

What a man this country radical was!

But I don’t think I understood him or his end.

In another season, I met a man of noble birth.
Like me, he had been born with everything.
Like me, he went looking for something.

He noted the rising and falling
Of that which does not rise and fall.
He told me to look at me and wonder.

What a man he was!

But perhaps there was no man at all.


We have been for so long.

We have
Killed and died,
Entered and exited,
Wounded and hurt.

Now let it be.

Let the stream be.
Let the day be.

Let the Real be on the wind
And in the
Million
Worlds
Unfolding.

Let the soon-to-be-born be born and let the dying die.

Let it all arrive and pass without arriving and passing.

Let it be.

Come
And
Sit.

Let it be.