The Eternal Flow

Beneath an ancient tree he sits,

A monk where earth and heaven meet,

While mist drifts softly through the peaks,

And silence gathers at his feet.

He watches clouds embrace the stone,

Then scatter in the morning light,

And wonders how the world is known

Through shadows giving shape to bright.

For beauty blooms beside the flawed,

And goodness shines where darkness lies;

The gentle heart, the troubled soul,

Are threads within the selfsame skies.

The high peaks rise above the vale,

Yet rest upon the depths below;

The forward path, the turning trail,

Are one in the eternal flow.

What seems so difficult today

May yield when struggling falls away;

What seems so distant, far from reach,

May rest within the heart's own peace.

The monk breathes in; the mist draws near.

He breathes out; mountains reappear.

Neither the cloud nor stone must change

For both to dwell within the same.

He does not ask the mist to part,

Nor bid the shadows disappear.

He lets the world reveal itself,

And finds no enemy to fear.

For light is known through darkness deep,

And waking follows dreams of sleep;

The stream must fall to reach the sea,

And loss gives space for what may be.

Beneath the tree, beyond the known,

He finds no truth that stands alone.

Each thing becomes what it can be

Through all it is not, yet cannot flee.

The mist moves on. The old tree sways.

The sun pours gold through mountain haze.

And in the stillness, clear and deep,

The monk becomes the peace he seeks.

No high, no low. No near, no far.

No need to name the moon or star.

Just heaven, earth, and breath made one—

The many resting in the One.