Drumsound rises on the air,
its throb, my heart.
A voice inside the beat says,
"I know you're tired,
but come, this is the way."
Which is worth more, a crowd of thousands,
or your own genuine solitude?
Freedom, or power over an entire nation?
A little while alone in your room
will prove more valuable than anything else
that could ever be given you.
Hiding is the hidden purpose
of creation. Bury your seed
and wait. After you die, all
the thoughts you had will
throng around like children.
The heart is the secret inside
the secret. Call the secret
language and never be sure
what you conceal. It's unsure
people who get the blessing.
Climbing jasmine, opening rose,
nightingale song, these are
inside the chill November
wind. They are its secret.
How did you discover mine?
Your laugh. Only the soul
knows what love is. This
moment in time and space is
an eggshell with an embryo
crumpled inside, soaked in
spirit-yolk, under the wing
of grace, until it breaks free
of mind to become the song
of birds and their breathing.
You have said what you are.
I am what I am.
Your actions in my head,
my head here in my hands
with something circling inside.
I have no name
for what circles
so perfectly.
Some nights stay up till dawn,
as the moon sometimes does for the sun.
Be a full bucket pulled up the dark way
of a well, then lifted out into light.
Inside water, a waterwheel turns.
A star circulates with the moon.
We live in this night ocean wondering
What are these lights?