TURNING INWARD

Like the dawn chorus of many carolling birds,
Man's a restless creature composed of many words,
This constant stream of thought's not a blessing but a bane,
They cloud the Sun of Self and leave him sad in shame.
In order to rise up to a higher plane of Being,
He needs cultivate the art of inward seeing,
With attention, srive to find the source of I,
Which ends the verbal torrent made of 'me' and 'my'.
Questioning 'Who Am I?' silences tyrant mind,
And instead of bubbling burble we soon shall find
A flood of joy and bliss flooding from one's heart,
Full of Grace and Love and ever ready to impart
An invocation of Selfhood to his fellow man,
Which only a pure Jnani really truly can.
Such is divine stillness and mystic power,
Which the silent mind brings into perfect flower.
We turn attention inward with all of our might,
Deeply diving down to source and bathe in Light.