Tuning of the Fork

A wise man told me
The Essence tuning fork
Is never idle.
It is always resonating.

As in…

Surviving one’s homeless spirit,
One may tune in audacity for a roof,
Direct eyes to dine on tomorrow,
And when eyes no longer see…

Listen

When ears no longer hear,

Think

When no thought comes,

Allow

Resonance lingers.

For when one’s father no longer lives,
Compassion becoming father .

When mother passes on,
Embracing Order is natural.

When no friends come near,
Quiet assumes companion.

When one’s home is no more,
Silence becomes shelter.

And so…

Many now reside somewhere nameless,
Responding not to supernatural influence,
As their tongues lead their own choir,
Allowing a different fortune

To visit their park bench.

Needs remain but a tactic,
Detachment their strategy,
Their Means having discovered the Within
Where nothing and everything
Becomes their destiny,
Anonymity proving divine,
Death anticipated as treasure found.

The wise man also taught me
When your lover has gone,

When connections with others wane,
Sleep invites exploration into values unknown.

For tomorrow’s awakening
Awaits slumbering shadows
Primed to detach and appear into the light
Where begins anew
The tuning of one’s own fork

Where sadness is imbued with renewed resonance.