by Jason Motsch
Loving kindness knows no form.
We attach our details to deity or idea
thinking it equals knowelege.
No one holds the amulet of truth
except for the creator.
Heaven is not a country club for the the select
And Hell is not a place for the outcast.
Maybe judgements should be thrown into the sea
like the lead stones they are.
Maybe our versions of ultimateness
should be discarded for love.
No one knows God intimately except
when seeing the daylight on the face of the
trees for the first time.
No man nor woman speaks
for the Buddha except when they wrap
their arms around the orphaned child
lying sick in the streets.
We are the trees.
We are the orphaned child.
The sunlight and gathering arms
are the medium for a Godly work of art.
So let's pick up our pen, brush and lute!
It's time to fashion a new kind of heart.
Let's show the way.