Around the Ashram

His brow is deeply lined with thought,
his head is highly domed;
His coat is dust from neglect,
his whiskers are uncombed

They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt;

The body is a bodhi tree,
the mind a bright mirror stand.
Always diligently clean it,
and let no dust alight.

There is a really deep well inside me.
And in it dwells God.
Sometimes I’m there too.
But more often stones and

I have lived on the lip of insanity,
wanting to know reasons,
knocking on a door. It opens.
I’ve been knocking from

Round and round
the centre I spin,
Leaving the without
to enter within.
No beginning, no end,
just the breath,<br

‘Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;