Even in the first flush of summer fullness,
yellowing leaves fall. All growth
feeds on decay. Each human step in grass brings death
to myriad ants, delivering them to suchness.
And so the secret flush of pain illumes
the lineaments of joy. Beware, my soul,
of good and evil. Stand firm within the whole
of Being. Stretch spring to autumn, sun to rain
as round turns on itself, devours
its own tail, and all things circle in
atomic astronomies.
There is no sin
but thinking made it so. Defy the hours
by flowing like the leaves; like summer leaves float slowly
upon the wind beyond all yes and no.
Copyright, Yoga Anand Ashram, Inc., 1998 (reprinted from Moksha Journal with permission)