You wake from a state of virtual sleep to obey
the call of being there, a life of perfect prayer
that involves work and study and communion
with all that would keep at the high calling, to
listen for the whisper of spirit in the mundane.
Needing to want not, being to be not save as
a vessel for spirit, you know in the old bones
you are made for delight, yet deep joy forever
eludes the grasper, the abstainer, too, who
would fall asleep at the wheel of grace.
While discipline does not drive grace, its practice
prepares the body and the mind to keep material
diversions from getting between you and spirit. So
you await delight's arising, not to attain the not yet,
yet to notice the already always.
It takes a single-minded, one-pointed absorption
of body, mind and soul to divine the way of spirit
that is utterly clear, calm, free and influential in its
love. Still, the perfect habit of heart that shrouds
mind must be wrapped in a flame not your own.
