Our plane is a vessel, flawed and worn,
But the spirit remains like vellum untorn.
I missed the taming of the social hand;
A wild flower growing in unventured land.

What was mine, I kept;
What I kept, was mine,
As a mountain stream,
bound with the sea.

Long kept shadows may cloud the eyes,
But the inborn soul is immune to lies.
Call me the fool, the eccentric, the blind,
I leave the institutions of the world behind.
To be dismissed is to live free,
In the quiet space of my own company.

I follow the path where shadows stray,
Line of flight into the grey.
As I am nothing, I encompass all,
Beyond the reach of their city wall.

The void is full; it is deep and wide,
The place where all
and nothing reside.
The soul is cleansed of the dust and the grit,
No longer a candle the world has lit.

I dwell in the clay
yet I don't turn to stone;
I remain the wind
that wanders alone.