There is a stillness at the heart of all things.
You have sensed it in the interstice of moments alone
and in the ebb tide of quiet lovers’ talk.
You have felt its cool touch in the laughter of your children,
or when the Sun’s repose has quenched
the sky’s colonnades of fire.
Patience and tranquility attend it;
passed translucent souls serve as fervent
acolytes in this alabaster temple of the mind.
Yet you have striven all your life for
the dirty playthings of this world.
Your felt your blood rise and brutal rage,
an uninvited guest, visit your heart
and all because–but you have forgotten the cause.
You allowed hate and jealousy to put their plump hands in yours.
Judas, Mammon and Mara smiled at the ease with which
you were led astray.
But now, at the end, the moneylenders have fled;
the boulevards of trade and avarice stand empty.
There is no one left to blame, or to judge.
Clutch your feverish brow–murmur vows of repentance–
shriek frenzied imprecations at Creation:
it will not alter the solemn light
shimmering on the leaves one iota.
The tender universe shines on in grace and quietude
as you slowly kneel down, at long last a true disciple.