Open Hands

Beneath the earth, in ant-tunnels dim and long,

I walked with my flying Mind, where silence turns to song.

A crystal lay, like sunlight held in clay-

A fragile truth that shimmered for a day.

*///*

My Mind asked softly, “Does this sweetness give life,

Or is it but a spark that turns to strife?”

I said, “If one believes it is the whole,

Then loss will surely fracture such a soul.”

*///*

An ant rushed forth, like fire that leaps to claim:

“This joy,” she cried, “and I are but the same.”

She clutched it tight, as though it held her breath,

While fear stood near, the quiet twin of death.

*///*

Here, desire mistook the part for whole-

A hunger crowned and named itself the soul.

What pleased the sense, she gathered into truth,

And chained her being to its fleeting youth.

*///*

My Mind then whispered, “See how craving binds;

Each grasp for more leaves hidden pain behind.”

I felt the truth beneath that fragile sight:

What’s held too hard can never hold the light.

*///*

Another came, like stillness after rain;

She touched the sweet, yet bore no trace of chain.

“For whom?” asked Mind. “Why carry, not possess?”

I said, “For more than self,for something less

Confined than want, that moves through open hands.”

*///*

She bore it not as owned or guarded delight,

But as a role within a greater rite.

For her, the grain was neither end nor start,

But something passing through an open heart.

*///*

“She gives,” said Mind, “yet still desire commands.”

I thought, “True love may act, yet is not need;

It moves, but never roots itself in greed.”

*///*

“For what remains when every form is gone?”

“Only the ground the heart has rested on.”

*///*

Then rain arrived, like time that will not stay;

The shining grain was slowly washed away.

“One breaks,” said Mind, “and one remains still free-

What makes them stand so differently?”

*///*

I answered, “One was bound to what would fade,

The other served what cannot be unmade.”

Mind grew still, as doubt dissolved in peace:

To cling is thirst; to love is to release.

*///*

“So walk,” said Mind, “with hands both open wide;

Let passing forms flow through, and not abide.”

And in that calm, a deeper truth I knew:

What we release returns ; yet comes more true.

*///*

To crown the fleeting as the final sight

Is error born of hunger, dressed as right.

But love is vision, patient, deep, and wide-

It knows the self is not what forms provide.