My Heart is a satchel of jewels,
Some from Hinduism
Some from Buddhism,
Some from Sufism,
Some from Christianity…
Some from Paths long forgotten.
In each of these Paths,
Mystics have arisen,
Who transcended the religiosity,
Inherent in each 'ism,
And found, as the founders had…
The jewel which gave birth to each Path.
Not the description of “reality”,
The prescriptions and proscriptions,
The admonitions of thus and such,
Or culture and theology,
Accrued over ages, and codified.
The jewel which gave birth to each Path
Was, before the arising of words…
A Subjective Experience,
Prior to interpretation and description,
But clothed, eventually, in…
Concepts, theory, and conjecture.
My Heart is a satchel of jewels,
Shining in wordless Glory,
Which, though found upon this Path or that,
Are not “of” any Path,
Or description of “Truth”.
How laughable, this notion of “Truth”,
The diverse descriptions of “reality”,
The many Paths held as Absolute,
Above all others,
And fought for, so viciously.
My Heart is a satchel of jewels,
Which, once fallen “Within”,
Lose the coloration of the Paths,
Upon which I found them,
For in the Formlessness before Form…
All colors vanish into… White.
