Even as you light the fire,
remember: its destiny is ash.
We see only memory, a flame
already changed, whose smoke,
sifted into the invisible, momentarily
flavors a wind that moves with no purpose
except to move, fueled by the upward drafts
released from our own expiring combustion.
Why warm your hands over dead ashes?
If you are seeking forgiveness for the past,
find the nowhere place where that past
seems to exist and notice it is empty.
If one looks and sees nothing
but the limitless spaciousness
of one’s own natural innocence,
forgiveness has already been granted.
In the meanwhile,
there’s a fine steady breeze
blowing existence around tonight.
Roll up your sleeves, plunge both hands
into the cooling remains of all that you
thought you were, then lift your fists
high above your head and fling
your filled hands open –
feed the wind.