When I lose my stride, I move until I find it again.
When its gone, its never lost, and it returns no matter what the cost.
Often found on the mat, in the sun, and all alone,
And in the silent spaces unknown.
Many people have come and gone,
Many beings have come and gone,
And all have worth just because of birth,
And because of birth comes death.
Nothing owes us anything,
Yet we owe everything to everything,
Independence is both a virtue and an illusion.
We all arise, energies rearrange, nothing ever stays the same,
It can't, stagnation means demise.
And even death means rearrangement,
Recycling, reincarnation, does it not?
Do you believe in all you see,
Then you simply must agree,
The corpse eaten by worm,
turns to dirt, dirt nourishes plant, plant in turn, becomes a bird.
Life leads us round an endless circle,
I imagine all the way from one to next to next,
And everything is an endless sea, of ever changing context.
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