In the beginning
In all space
In the body
is a thread.
In all shadow
is a vanishing.
In the heart
is the most intimate
We are released from our bindings.
Traces linked us,
drawing the plow through hardened soil.
The tangle of the great I am is cleared
and there is only vast mystery.
It is gentled.
Wisdom comes as it makes affront
into soft openings.
It wants for nothing –
and I am freed of its clinging.
It wavers on my back.
Unsteady in its conviction of conquest,
as am I.
Soft earth padded into a path
my rolling strides soothe it into
It is secure in believing
it directs our journey.
It needs such kindness, this one.
Strike at me, desire mastery of me –
yet it is you who suffer.
How curious. How confused you are.
Control will not be possession.
Still, the struggle.
How harmful can it be – one
so small and powered by desire?
Close – and there is something familiar –
something of the earth, of blind living and dying.
I am Ox.
What is it? What is it?