It is 2:30 in the morning. Everyone is asleep, the villa is quiet, and I am alone with myself except for the wind blowing through the open window. I watch the random thoughts dancing across the screen of my mind; they are nothing more than the ego’s machinations. Yet, they pull on my awareness, tempting me with the illusion of identity, even as I stand on the fringes of my own spacious soul. I could pray, but at this moment words feel like just another distraction, a form of egoic grasping. At this moment, my interior poverty must be my only prayer. Everything but my own emptiness is like bitter water to me. God is here in my poverty, just beyond the grip of the ego’s grasp. God is nakedly present, and I must be naked in order to meet him, stripped of my many illusory identifications with myself. Good night, world!
Divine God, Beloved Guru,
You are here in my poverty
Just beyond my ego’s grasp.
