DEVOTION

Pious in public no more...
The sage carries the religious paraphernalia...
Only deep within his blood...
Woven into his skin...
The priest still picks up the cross daily...
But it is hung in the temple of his heart...
All scriptures becoming living word...
The saint has nothing to prove...
Even the learned ones...
Eventually the books are put into the fire...
They too blend with the ash...
Remembering the dust from which they came...
The place of worship...
Relegated to the inner cabinets of his mind...
His radiant persona...
His twinkling eyes and sweet speech...
God is infinitely seen in him...
And unaware of his actions...
He is the truth and the spirit...
An ocean of perfection...
He can only reveal that which is in us...
Not a word or action of ignorance by man...
They cannot move him...
Knowing only himself...
He is fully joined...
He, knowing that all things are worthy to be praised...
He extends himself even into the blind man...
Identifications with the body and mind...
Fully denied and now he is fit...
Seeking only to live as the light...
He shines radiantly in the hall of the kingdom...
Blessed is that devotee to wash his feet...
But best that devotee do it swiftly...
Otherwise the sage may do it first...


doM