For earnest pilgrims on the path,
truth can be a most consuming flame
when there are illusions left to burn.
When it gets too hot we may complain,
though it’s only light, doing its job,
until the lesson’s learned.
Stick by stick, the fuel of the past
is fed to a pyre in the fire-circle of life
to enjoy the fate of all flammable things —
all stories of self and other, you and me –
the dry kindling wood made of memory.
Ah, everyone wants to be happy.
Everyone has their own work to do,
regardless of any hope or fear,
sad regret, or doubt.
Love, and the way it’s resisted:
what everyone’s work
is mostly about.
truth can be a most consuming flame
when there are illusions left to burn.
When it gets too hot we may complain,
though it’s only light, doing its job,
until the lesson’s learned.
Stick by stick, the fuel of the past
is fed to a pyre in the fire-circle of life
to enjoy the fate of all flammable things —
all stories of self and other, you and me –
the dry kindling wood made of memory.
Ah, everyone wants to be happy.
Everyone has their own work to do,
regardless of any hope or fear,
sad regret, or doubt.
Love, and the way it’s resisted:
what everyone’s work
is mostly about.
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