Why Is Not The Question

Some days I look across the lake and
Want to cry.  I do not know why.
But why is “why?” the question?

I am One with trees,
One with wind
When it whips off leaves.
One that walks on water,
Tames the sea
Without the secret question,
“Why?” or “Why me?”

I witness dawn and watch horizon
Fade away at night and feel no fear
When cold distance of stars appears.
I want no rehearsal; seek no audience;
Desire no mirror.  Only quiet.
That is enough to whisper,
“I am one with Love,
And Love is quite enough.”


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