I have been in the world and of the world.
Now grown old I retire to a monk’s cell.
No great hardship – the door of my chamber
shutting out the croon and roar, glamour and paste,
honey and venom of the great Illusion.
I see now: No worldly temptations
ever lured me into the streets without
the inner promptings of my tumultuous
heart and mind and (says my Beloved)
the surplus compulsions of the deceived creature
whom I once was and have for ages ever been.
To become purely a child of God, at last,
I must leave myself behind, breaking ages-old
habits,
scatter the ashes and debris of my desire,
relinquish bit by bit a lifelong faith
in my illusory lack, my alias and alibi,
recognize and embrace, moment to moment,
(in new-found servitude and trust)
that dimly glimpsed part of me
that is and belongs always to my Beloved.
O child of God, another hit-and-miss attempt
to express the ineffable workings of the path.
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