The Simurgh

All these years gathering ash
and watching it blow away
until finally,
one still day
head down on a peaceful hill
where they buried you,
some ancient bird
began to breathe.

All the walks in those woods
were just grooming,
the start of letting go,
weaving one's way
from world to truth.

All became fire,
then. No friends left
until mercy called from
the empty space between embers:
there is no escape
in truth, by the truth
of your own upbringing.

All the ash was not different,
then, from the gold
you once thought
you'd gathered,
though held now in one heart's
boundary, built just
to bring truth back,
bare and unadorned.

None of it was real,
until now.
There is only the Real
and we are cast out
to catch perpetual life,
then commanded to return
having revealed,
by virtue of our service,
the sacred Light that lives in
all.

Listen

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