this can't be right
not the indulgence of a god
toward that illusory me, condemned by him
to being eternally dirty
just as a yardstick for his purity
like being smothered in a tidal wave
of white ice cream; repulsive

something else must be happening
here I am, again and again prostrating

but look - there I am also
step by step, climbing the long staircase
expectantly, impatiently, delightedly, breathlessly
until I reach the top of my heart's tower
and fling wide the doors
and the vast and bronze sunrise I meet
meets me, like a gong, bursting in and all around me
through me in the beginningless endlessness

when I can bear no more
I descend again into my dim halls and stables
but I know it still to be there, waiting
and, like a jewel in my mind's eye
I tend this priceless knowledge:
the whereabouts of the bottom of the staircase

© 2000 Dharmachari Padmavyuha back...