Henry David Thoreau
Epitaph On The World
Here lies the body of this world,
Whose soul alas to hell is hurled.
This golden youth long since was past,
Its silver manhood went as fast,
An iron age drew on at last;
‘Tis vain its character to tell,
The several fates which it befell,
What year it died, when ’twill arise,
We only know that here it lies.
Think of the phoenix coming up out of the ashes,
but not flying off.
For a moment we have form.
How can we be conscious and you be conscious
at the same time and separate?
Copper when an alchemist works on it loses it copper qualities.
Seeds in Spring begin to be trees, no longer seeds….
It’s not that I’ve done anything to deserve
this attention from you.
Predestination and freewill: We can
argue them, but they are only ideas.
What’s real is a presence, like Shams.