Wandering

You've wandered so long
in this muddy swamp.
If you continue to see
what is transparent,
what shimmers, as solid
you will wander further yet.

Your mind itself is only an idea.
It has never  been anything more.
You hear only echoes,
you see only dreams.
Cities are mirages.
The mountains are like
the moon reflected in water,
waves of your own mind.
This mind, shimmering, transparent,
without beginning,
without obstacle,
is like water poured into water,
water poured into water.

Because
you are afraid,
you hide in a big house or in a tree,
or in the cavity of a flower.
Out of fear, to escape your demons,
you are willing to endure anything,
to take whatever body comes.

Oh, You of Glorious Origin,
best is to rest, empty.

Or, if you can’t, join the play of illusion.
Don’t attach yourself to this or that.
Becoming illusions’ child,
the time has come to choose a body.




 

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