The laser beam of finely honed attention
Dives inward, with breath and thought retention,
Searching for the source of ‘phantom me’.
It cuts through the sheaths and veils we see
Of habits, thought forms and selfish will,
Formed over many life time’s dreams, so ill.
The Pear Fisher finds nothing on the floor
Of his deep interior ocean bed, no more.
Then one splendid day, mind drops into heart,
He touches ego, and it falls apart.
Crash, crash, it topples, shakes, and then drops down.
Identification’s been severed at its crown.
Open heart surgery has been performed,
The errant soul no longer quakes, deformed.
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