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The Buddha And Reincarnation
A seed of light drifts into flesh,
Drawn by causes, spun by winds unseen.
Form is the vessel, frail yet vast,
A raft upon the endless stream.
Desire is the loom that weaves the veil,
Memory whispers of lives before.
The wheel turns, never resting,
Bearing me where I have been before.
Eyes open to the sorrow of birth,
Yet also to the fragrance of rain.
To breathe is to suffer,
But also to touch the morning sun.
Incarnation is not a prison,
It is the teaching written in flesh.
Each wound and wonder a sutra,
Each tear and smile a verse.
To awaken is to step beyond the wheel.
Copyright ©
James Mclain
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