To look upon the world with these dead, glass eyes,
And listen intently with these old, wooden ears,
Is the gift of all gifts.

Like hunting for sand-dollars on the beach,
Only to find a gold coin.

Like looking for a whore,
But instead finding a wife.

Like trying to count smoke.

Like trying to see the center of the sun.

Is it even there?


It's here! Here! HERE!

Just listen...

The smell of bones
The air of pain
The bubbling of blood.

Not to be shunned
or avoided
but bathed in
as a hot-spring
for an aching body.

Karma to Karma.
Lips to lips.
The kiss of death;
To heal me
of my ignorance.

The world works
Just this way,
And I shouldn't hide
from the truth
Like I once did
When I was so
Full of myself.

Thank you, Great Teacher,
for the taste of wisdom
you give me,
and the way your
fills my nose
with the smell
of reality.