He said it doesn’t exist inside an immaculate room.
It does not pour out from an open chakra.
It can’t be birthed within the sweetest of incense,
in the past or present samsara spaces—
or found in the center of mystic places.
It is not in the cymbal’s chime,
not in a cache of secret wealth,
not hidden inside laws of esoteric traditions
nor written in the holiest of scripture text.
It is here, on this plane,
in this realm
it is the cooling ford from an open ravine.
It is the all–knowing and seeing,
formed by the prayers and unspoken devotion
of those who came before.
Each time we draw near, hear it reminding
of the divinity within each living thing.
For we are all testaments of truth
near the ancient stream—
meant for you, accessible to me.
So let us approach and immerse freely,
for however long