All we gotta get is out,
out of our own way.
Are you still a pilgrim
or have you become the path?
If you meet the Buddha, ask him
how to soothe Jehova's wrath
and end the ancient riddle
of the empty sentient middle.
Stay on course toward the source.
Thirsty for salvation, we're the
thirst and we're the cure,
living lives as fish or fishers when,
in fact, we are the lure.
By force of faith or fate,
we struggle to endure;
far fiercer love than hate,
long muddled shall be pure.
What role does the body play?
Never the same as yesterday.
Body's where we live and die;
this is the seer, this is the eye.
Lourdes and Mecca, Wailing Wall,
Timbuktu, Katmandu:
Each one waits in bone and cell
Heaven is here and so is hell.
Are you still a seeker
or have you become the sought?
If you meet the seller, ask him
how to lose the self you bought
and become the d**hless dancer's
beatific breathless answers.
Stay on course toward the source.
We'll stay on course.
Winged horse, wisdom's source.
Pining for enlightenment
we're the patient and the leach,
repeating lives as learners though
there's nothing left to teach.
Snatch at phantom straws
floating out of reach,
natural fairy law's
impossible to breach.
What lock fits no-mind's key?
Ever the game of "You and Me."
No-mind's free to laugh or cry,
savannah tree: that ape am I.
Lourdes and Mecca, Wailing Wall,
Timbuktu, Katmandu:
Each one waits in bone and cell,
heaven is here and so is hell.
Outer space fuels inner flight.
Way out of sight.
One last chance to set it right.
Way out of sight.
We've got to get
out of our own way.
Outside, way out of sight.
By force of faith or fate,
body's where we live and die.
This is the seer, this is the eye.
By force of faith or fate,
are you still a pilgrim
or have you become the path?
And solve the endless riddle
of the awesome breathing middle.
Outer space fuels inner flight.
Way out of sight.
One last chance to set it right.
Way out of sight.
We've got to get
out of our own way.
Outside, way out of sight.
Third eye open, second sight.
Way out of sight.
One eye, body full of light.
Way out of sight.
We've got to get
out of our own way.
Outside, way out of sight.
Stay on course toward the source.
All thats implode in only this, nursed
and cursed by the spoken word.
Oh mother tongue! Not forked,
but double-edged. The poet, talking
about the moon, is not the moon:
or is he? It's easy to be in two places
at once when you're already
everywhere. If Taliesin could do it,
we can, too. So we gotta geek asking:
Who, who, who am I? working in
the grime, lurking under rhyme,
hurting all the time even when it feels
good. Go ahead and groan with the
goddamn pain of it all. Take it in,
chew it small. Take what you need,
make it part of yourself... and let go!