To see, to really see,
you must take off your head
and put it well aside, friends.
Open the eyes of your heart instead.
Open the ears of your soul
and ride on the river of light
that glows along: a constant caterpillar
leading you back home
to where you came from and have forgotten.
Your eyes see not into the nature of things.
They see the diver, but not the dive,
they see the winding smoke, but not the fire burning inside,
they see only the road before them, and not the moon sailing beside.
Rather you gouge them out than stay blind
to true vision which resides only in the chest,
beating, and pounding.
Why do you think the heart beats?
To call your attention, so wandering,
back to it.
Come home then, come home.
You can ride the big stream of heart.
Let the spirit rise out of you like steam,
like a snake uncoling, like a dreamer stepping into the dream.
The flowers are watered then with your tears,
the wounds are healed with your lips,
and pain is found out in everyones' hearts
and purged away to the lake, the sea, the ocean,
where it drowns in the cleansing waters.
Wash your ego from your self,
and step out of your skin
which is battle-worn and bruised from abuse.
Come swim in the golden waters of this pond,
naked, wearing only your spirit.
It's warm here like luminous oil massaging you.
There are morning doves and orchids at night
and in the day, there is rest and the stars.
The trees sing you lullabies
in harmony with the breeze
and the moon sometimes eclipses the sun.
You always have playmates--
ones who cry and laugh at once,
reveling in the irony, the paradox of the universe.
They work to stop suffering,
but their pain and their joy become one here
--pain a vine winding around the tree of joy,
and all explode together in green
where branches touch the sky.