What can be told is not the Way,
For that was born of yesterday.
Eternal joining lifts the feet
Of one who hears a natural beat.
Who moves with what he does or sees,
As flowing water buoying leaves.
The earth to him is a friend to court,
With whom he bonds in royal sort.
Immersed in what the hour has brought,
He holds the gift and is not caught,
Lightly wooing every day
To find the spirit in its play.
Not in effort's planned aggression
Will he seek a truthful session
For the setting of a goal,
As that impedes the open soul.
More in stillness lies the treasure,
Standing under work and pleasure,
Moving him from outer teasing
To the heart of life's own beating.