What’s selfish and what’s selfless still contend
In me, and doubtless ever will, un-Zenned
Into a tranquil equilibrium
Where Yang and Yin transcend the zero sum.
For still it’s win or lose and keeping score,
Untempered by the koan Less is More;
And still it’s past and future, not the Now,
Which scheming and redreaming won’t allow.
But then, would I be writing if I’d found
The blissful stasis of the sacred Ground,
And would I then be willing to give up
My constant questing for some Holy Cup?
Or is my greatest pleasure still the search,
Disdaining the bland comfort of a perch?