THIS WAY, PERHAPS
Most times my mind is foggy, overcast
With temporal concerns, and nearly blind
To what’s beyond this inner sky: a vast
And spacious consciousness all unconfined.
Such cosmic consciousness now underlies
My secular obsessions and delusions,
And like the morning sun may well arise
To scatter all my foolish night’s confusions.
It may arise spontaneously if I’m
So blessed by grace beyond my own control,
A function not of reason but of rhyme,
Arising not from intellect but soul.
Still, though, I hope to find a surer way
To waken my dim consciousness to day.