THE MIND

Primordial mists
Surround my brow,
Yet mind and brow
Are manifest expressions of the mind.
And mind cannot be cut into a thousand pieces
As light cannot.

Still mind can choose
To close its eyes against its light,
Can dream, instead.

And in that dream
Can scramble, crawl and slither,
Alone and running yon and hither
Within its own dark,
Empty spaces imagined to be real,
Quite cut-off from its source –

Until one day or night,
All in its own good season,
It comes to know itself
As that white crystal-clear,
And sunny dispositioned
Inner light:
That light of love and reason