Out beyond ideas of
wrong-doing and right-doing
There is a field
I'll meet you there
 
When the soul lies down in that grass
the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase,
each other
doesn't make any sense.

Something opens our wings
Something makes boredom and hurt disappear
Someone fills the cup in front of us
We taste only emptiness.

Say I am you.

Don't be satisfied with stories, how things
have gone with others. Unfold
your own myth, without complicated explanation,
so everyone will understand the passage,
WE HAVE OPENED YOU.

What strange beings we are! 
That sitting in hell at the bottom of the dark,
We're afraid of our own immortality.

Where did I come from, and what am I supposed to be doing?
I have no idea.
My soul is from elsewhere,
I'm sure of that, and I intend to end up there.
This drunkenness began in some other tavern.

You sit here for days saying,
This is a strange business.

You're the strange business.
You have the energy of the sun in you,
but you keep knotting it up at the base of your spine.

You're some kind of weird gold
that wants to stay melted in the furnace,
so you won't have to become coins.

Say ONE in your lonesome house.
Loving all the rest in hiding inside a lie.

Let yourself be silently drawn by the stronger pull of what you truly love.

The Real Work
There is one thing in this world that you must never forget to do.  If you forget everything else and not this, there's nothing to worry about, but if you remember everything else, and forget this, then you will have done nothing in your life.
It's as if a king has sent you to some country to do a task, and you perform a hundred other services, but not the one he sent you to do.  So human beings come to this world to do particular work.  That work is the purpose, and each is specific to the person.  If you don't do it, it's as though a priceless Indian sword were used to slice rotten meat.  It's a golden bowl being used to cook turnips, when one filing from the bowl could buy a hundred suitable pots.  It's a knife of the finest tempering nailed into a wall to hang things on.
You say, "But look, I'm using the dagger.  It's not lying idle."
Do you hear how ludicrous that sounds?  For a penny, an iron nail could be bought to serve the purpose.  You say, "But I spend my energies on lofty enterprises.  I study jurisprudence and philosophy and logic and astronomy and medicine and all the rest."  But consider why you do those things.  They are all branches of yourself.
Remember the deep root of your being, the presence of your lord.  Give your life to the one who already owns your breath and your moments.  If you don't, you will be exactly like the man who takes a precious dagger and hammers it into his kitchen wall for a peg to hold his dipper gourd.  You'll be wasting valuable keenness and foolishly ignoring your dignity and your purpose.

Rise up nimbly and go on your strange journey to the ocean of meanings.