Swan, I’d like you to tell me your whole story!
Where you first appeared, and what dark sand
you are going toward,
and where you sleep at night
and what you are looking for… . . .
It’s morning, swan, wake up, climb in the air, follow me!
I know of a country that spiritual flatness
does not control, nor constant depression,
and those alive are not afraid to die.
There wildflowers come up through the leafy floor,
and the fragrance of `I am he’ floats on the wind.
There the bee of the heart stays deep inside the flower,
and cares for no other thing.
Don’t go outside your house to see flowers.
My friend, don’t bother with that excursion.
Inside your body there are flowers.
One flower has a thousand petals.
That will do for a place to sit.
Sitting there you will have a glimpse of beauty;
inside the body and out of it,
before gardens and after gardens