Tags
Buddhism, Collapse of Industrial Civilization, Harmony Within, Inner Journey, Inner Peace, Meaning of Life, Meditative Verse, Personal Transformation, Quiet Reflection, Seeking Truth, Self Discovery, Taoism

Beyond the chase for gold or fame,
A deeper thirst, without a name—
Not sated by the world’s applause,
But found in quiet, sacred pause.
A pearl lies hidden, veiled from sight,
Within the soul’s unending night;
To find its glow, we dive within,
Where transformation must begin.
The world distracts with noise and light,
But clues appear in fleeting sight—
A song, a tree, a lover’s face,
Hints of a deeper, sacred place.
The body’s cells, with purpose aligned,
Reveal the unity we seek to find.
Each serves the whole, each knows its place,
Selfless, bonded, woven grace.
No cell withholds, no cell denies,
They live the truth that underlies—
That giving, joining, letting be,
Is nature’s path to harmony.
We think the outer world alone is real,
But all we touch and taste and feel,
Is born within the mind’s domain—
A dance of signals, joy and pain.
The world is in us, not outside,
The dreamer and the dream collide;
All boundaries blur, all forms dissolve,
As inner worlds and stars revolve.
What you are seeking, you already hold—
The silent witness, gentle yet bold.
No far-off journey, no prize to win,
The treasure stirs in silence, deep within.
But shadows linger, doubts arise,
A silent ache behind the eyes.
We wander lost through tangled thought,
Afraid the pearl we seek is naught.
Yet in the hush where longing breaks,
A deeper knowing softly wakes.
Through every trial, wound, and scar,
We find how near we truly are.
Release the chase, the maps, the strife,
The restless search through outer life;
In stillness, meet the self that stays
When all illusions fall away.
Pain may come, but suffering’s chain
Is forged by mind, in false terrain.
We cling to stories, regrets, and fears,
Confined within our phantom years.
Let feelings pass like streams that flow,
Let truth unwind what isn’t so;
In presence, suffering fades to air—
The real remains, the false laid bare.
A root runs deep, where questions burn,
Threading through chambers as mysteries churn.
It drinks the rains of joy and ache,
And blossoms quietly when you wake.
Ask, and the answer floods your days;
Knock, and the door reveals the ways.
You are the mystery you seek—
The root, the flower, the voice unique.








