Sun-born from silence to delight
and song, in sight and flight,
some dream or seem to search
or lurch on paths from church
to church, amid stone temples
for that silent spirit, still...
Son-born of the spirit of
and love and all that's right
conquering night and death
through surrender to the dove
of peace beyond understanding
and faith that moves mountains
of fear and doubt, and none can live
Unborn or torn from wombs of war and
violence that knows no peace, or love, or
truth, or silence...
restlessly always becoming, never being
still, never quite arriving, ever being born
and dying, trying all the ways except the
one that is so near, so near... (No, closer!)
It is here.
Closer than breath and blood, always
present since before the rainbow and
it is the flawless perfect jewel,
"Om mani padmi hum!"
the impossibility of abundance
every place we stand, the holy
ground of being
more radiant than any
day or night-sky star.