What is it that immortal sages share?
What is their Wisdom, seemingly so rare?
Is it achievable by you and me,
Accumulated here by slow degree,
Or does it come like lightning in a burst
And sudden rain to quench a burning thirst?
I think it comes when yearning in one’s soul
Grows to a force like a magnetic pole
That draws toward itself what corresponds
With what it craves, with which it dearly bonds.
For what is Wisdom, anyway, but Love,
Like lightning that we’ve summoned from above
Electrifying those that it elects,
Now charged to cause spectacular effects?