Long you have wandered the desert.
Enter now the palace of the King.
His only requirement –
remove your filthy coat.
Possessions, He does not demand,
nor the servitude of your body;
nor must the torch of your wisdom
and awareness be extinguished.
He demands only that illusory cloak
to which you so fanatically cling, be shed –
your journeyman’s cloak,
ragged, encrusted, malodorous –
cloak of foreign alliance, of feigned separation;
cloak of provisional power and false dominion.
The King and the desert await you, pilgrim,
on either hand. It’s
your decision to make.
O child of God, the bargain was struck ages ago.
Take it now . . . or leave it.
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