The mystics
arrive from a distant land—
a place just past the fields
we know.

From that mountain meadow
they can see clearly
this land of opposites
that I call home.

Their hearts are vast open prairie.
soil they turn
without fear,
and take part
in their own becoming.

But we—

we who live
in two directions at once—
our sight is not so sharp.

Here,
judgment reigns.
And the kingdom of separation
does not loosen its grip
easily.

It reaches down
into the root of us,
feeding the small but gluttonous
I / me.

Wherever we walk
we drag its dirty silt
across the bright, colorful fields
of oneness.

But the mystics—

this is their work.
They came here for this alone.
To harvest this nutriment
without fear, 

knowing it’s the reason
The blue lotus
blooms.