The small self passing

The small self passing                                                                                     
 
There’s a narrow walking down through woods road
to a river and whatever is met on that walking down
 
is left forever behind.  At the river, the road keeps going, 
always new and never returning. It’s only illusion,
 
so the sutras and discourses explain, illusion
that makes us believe in the small self passing,
 
who owns the body that walks the road;
only the provisional construct and thoroughgoing habit
 
gathered over lifetimes, sustained by ignorance and fear
and the divine plan and o, my fellow pilgrims!
 
What a relief it would be, would it not?
a joyous, destined liberation
 
to walk that road all the way down
to the never-ending, never-returning river
 
where everything met is passed through
and left forever neatly, cleanly behind.
 
O child of God, remove thyself,
said Hafiz, for thou art the veil.