If I do not practice
descrimination with my senses,
then I am lost,
like having a single stray
hair on my cheek but seeing
and believing this is a log.
I know that God will love
me still if I outwit
and defeat unrestrianed
thoughts and craving --
even better it is
to see it is not me doing this,
but the impulse of an
aspiration that has no
beginning nor end:
Awake, alive in the spontaneous
unconstructed intuitive sense of it,
beyond the control
of mine and others blithe
conceptions --
Goodness gracious!
Me oh my!
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