Of porcelain
A dozen tiles
Or more
A stupa grand
And towering
Each tile placed
By hands of men
A stupa grand
And towering
Each tile placed
By hands of men
I remind myself
There are always options
Most drawn to center
Where all of us are one
But many lost in darkness
To drift beyond the crest
I rise from sleep
To greet the sun
With song and peace
Then in its light
Join reverie
For life and love
And Harmony
I may think of friends
Who are far away
But always in my orbit
Always there
Even if not visible
In my daylight skies
But I try to live every day
As if it were a tread
On the staircase
Which would take me there
All I need
Is to open my eyes
Remembering
That by “eyes”
I mean heart
In time
With practice
They become
The light
I paused. Reflected. Then, “have you ever known something to be true, absolutely true, even though there was no way you could know it to be true, because there was no reason to think it was true? Something you can’t explain to anyone else, even explain to yourself?”