Monk mode
No one comes and no one goes
as Self dwelling in heart knows,
sipping love’s magic potion,
observing life in motion.
Passions squashed, ego exhumed,
presence with bliss mists perfumed,
nonchalant to quirks of fate,
the monk stands at heaven’s gate.
As bliss in-pours through heart’s door,
non-judging eye keeps no score,
holding all in embrace,
seeing in all hearts, God’s face.
With bliss as the monk’s consort,
stance erect without support,
attachments having let go,
his abode is the bardo.
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