The heart, hearing its owner from afar,
takes its own beat for a stranger's.
The place you take for real
is the veil of habit.
A mouth appears, and an attentive ear.
Words have become seeds, and understanding
the soil that will ripen them
Would a mirror be a mirror without its secret silver?
Where there is dust, the face is not seen
Where there is self, the Truth is not seen
Man is a fruit from the tree of heaven
The ripe fruit is silent on the branch,
it does not say 'I am ripe,' it falls in surrender
Whoever says 'I know' shuts the door; knowledge
does not enter a full vessel
The heart is a compass for one whose map is not in the pocket
but within
Destiny wears the clothes of chance.
You turn back from one street, and your portion is in another
street.
The eye does not see itself, the hand does not know the hand
yet look, all of it is one human. We cannot see the whole
but we are in the whole, in the cells…
Rain falls.
The same drop
becomes a pearl in the shell,
a scent in the flower,
a poison in the snake.
Whatever the vessel is,
truth takes on that shape.
There is only one Doer
Dying and dying, this wheel turns.
Flour dies and becomes dough,
dough dies and becomes bread.
Forms pass,
the essence remains.
The moth does not circle…
Love circles.
Love is fire.
Until it burns, truth does not open.
You are not searching.
You are being called.
You are not walking,
you are being drawn.
You are not learning,
you are remembering.
Because everything
turns around a single fire
LOVE.
mim