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I stood on a big Rock
Outcropping on the edge of a
Dark, beautiful and dangerous stream.
Then, I took my mind
and left it on the Rock
while I crossed, without it, the sparkling stream.
Then stood on a smaller rock
Perched precariously above
The other edge of the stream.
Looking back, I saw a good, healthy fish
In the stream, looking up at me
Big eyes focused on me,
Lips moving, tail wagging below,
A good fish with scales.
Aware that the fish was not me
and that the mind perched across the stream on the big high Rock
Was not me either;
I turned and ran carefully into the verdant woods
Luxurious, growing, living,
forest of my dreams.
Yet the forest was not me
Nor was the fish
Nor the mind.
Who am I?
What am I?
Aware that folks have
made idols of wood and stone, of beast and bird;
but being neither fish nor foul,
I was careful not to
worship any of these.
Neither, especially, did I worship my mind
Perched opposite on the Rock,
Aware that in this day and age
We meld our images into the very mind of man.
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