Be as humble, Lao Tzu advised, as uncut wood.
Too late for most. We’ve
already carved ourselves up –
rasped and whittled, painted and pasted over
to make our shape and image
acceptable to the world –
lovable, respectable . . . exceptional!
O! The pain involved
now in the slicing through,
the paring down below the acquired ornamentation,
every cut by our blade, a further disfigurement;
never to reclaim the purity and authenticity
of the original grain.
Weather me, Lord!
Over the aeons, down to the essence –
by the elements – as I cede and acquiesce,
mourn and pray for humility –
not the original, guileless condition –
but the humility of helplessness and futility,
the inability, in this lifetime, to recover
an innocence so irretrievably lost.
O child of God, return to your original state
by the grace and dharma of the Beloved.
