Am I this body,
Womb to tomb,
Protoplasm, orgasm, proliferation
And ultimately, decomposition?
Am I this ego,
Like a chunk of space debris
Making a bright streak of oxidation,
Burning through the atmosphere of praise, defense and fear?
Am I this mind,
Rendered sharp in practice,
Cutting through adversaries
And memories until they bleed?
Am I this emotion,
The inner tide of hate and desire,
Twisting me into something I am not,
Controlled only by discretion?
Am I this heart,
That yearns to engulf the whole,
Truth, beauty, fragrance of flower,
The seat of my true self, the coals of my fire?
Or am I this spirit,
That hovers and smiles
At my human attachments,
My worries and judgements?
I stand on the beach, stare out at the sun,
Sinking red on the world’s horizon,
Me no different than sand flea or sparrow,
With great Nature–one.