Pride (the kind that expels
A flavor of something not quite…right,
Is filled with an illusion,
Something that explodes when we bite
Down, that we can reach the Divine
Itself, higher than any names,
Before the cosmic eggs
Hatched, waterways and frames,
That itself is a statue,
A molten image that we
Have hidden away,
A mistaken identity.
How broad our life becomes
When we see that
There is nothing we can see
Of God, beyond all habitat,
All thought, every idea,
Until we are crowned
With glory adn with joy
Upon the ancient ground.
Is that us, me? Only this
Clears a person like glass,
Through which he sees himself,
Black sky, blue ice crevasse,
He is one spark breathed upon
By a cosmic breath, the source,
Carried down along
The foaming watercourse.
A flavor of something not quite…right,
Is filled with an illusion,
Something that explodes when we bite
Down, that we can reach the Divine
Itself, higher than any names,
Before the cosmic eggs
Hatched, waterways and frames,
That itself is a statue,
A molten image that we
Have hidden away,
A mistaken identity.
How broad our life becomes
When we see that
There is nothing we can see
Of God, beyond all habitat,
All thought, every idea,
Until we are crowned
With glory adn with joy
Upon the ancient ground.
Is that us, me? Only this
Clears a person like glass,
Through which he sees himself,
Black sky, blue ice crevasse,
He is one spark breathed upon
By a cosmic breath, the source,
Carried down along
The foaming watercourse.
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