The mystery happens everyday,
Like getting up to see the day,
Will I let the magic work,
Or simply grovel in the dirt?
All is really of a piece,
What's excluded haunts my peace,
Perfect and imperfect fight,
Only if I miss the light.
Every story and event
Needs relieved of grave intent,
Things are given write the specs;
"Commit to living, not effects."
Today I'm this tomorrow that,
Enlightenment's both this and that.
It's not a place or goal for each,
But a bridging of a breach.
A leap into a vast unknown,
That widens further on it own,
Yet joined to me as all is one,
Although the mind stays on the run.
A channel opens through us all,
When I remove the inner wall
That keeps a lock of heaven's gate
And set a boundary to my state.
A nameless all unites as one,
The cells within me to the sun.
Can I know what is the goal,
If I keep others from the whole?
When conflict dies within my heart
And wanting finds a better part,
The world becomes a giving tree
And I its fruit that makes me free.
For all is one great interchange,
That lives the value as we change,
That's the view within my ken
If I but flee my self-made pen.
--Thomas D. Stanks, Book of
Mystical Poetry, Volume 1, 1995