Awake he struggled out of the box
(A difficult thing to do),
But he succeeded and left a crack
For those who the same might do.
And O the great effort needed
To friction himself to flame
Against the roughness of the box
Whose help was priced in pain!
But came the glory of light and warmth,
Which set him to self-consuming,
And his light and warmth streamed into the box
Making restless those who were dreaming.
At last he glowed to an ember,
And his ash fell to the ground,
But he was off in the light and warmth
To the Source of the Self he’d found.
The Last Self Is For Making Selfless
I left behind my parents and teachers
With whom I shaped my first self,
And into the world at the right time I went
Where I found I was also someone else.
And with my world “mother and father”
My second self was formed in many a way,
But the time has now come when I must leave it
And another self bring to display.
And it’s the free loving self I’ve developed
From my own parents of thinking and will,
And last self it is for now selfless I become
As all parents I lovingly fulfill.
(And so three selves I will have become,
But the self I make selfless I myself must have won.)
Gold in Life
When I was a child, I loved it when told
Of pirates who buried their ill-gotten gold,
And how they tore their maps in two
So both halves were needed the gold to pursue.
And O the adventures, the greed and the plotting
Of rascals and scoundrels who’d stop at nothing
To bring those two halves one to the other
Then sail the high seas the gold to uncover.
(Success mean’t the high life, or it might be so,
They on a scaffold were then dropped low!)
Now that I’m grown up, I too search for gold
And my map is in two as they were of old.
And one half’s the percept that’s given to me,
The other half, the concept, achieved must be.
But different this map than the pirate one;
As I stitch it together the nearer I’ll come
To the gold that can’t be possessed by me
But with my last stitch, of gold I will be.
The Tree of Life is blossoming now
And this the little bee knows;
He drinks of its nectar with great delight
Then off to the other Tree goes,
That Tree of Old that still blossoms and fruits
And there too the little bee dines,
And leaves on the flowers the Pollen of Life
For the New Fruit as the Old Fruit declines.