O, dear brothers!
O, sweet sisters!
The Search doesn't end at the Lord
but only at the bank of a cold stream
deep in a misty wood,
far from home, far from neighbors,
far from lovers and far from habit.
Where you drop to your knees
(if you're willing)
and pull yourself up by the roots,
casting the sprouts of ego into the water.
Yeah, He's waiting somewhere
downstream of there.
Downstream of self.
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