Human frame

This human frame is our legacy,

gifted to us by our parents,

whose gift it once was too.

Each of us the bequeathee

of a biological machine beyond our ken.

Literal spaceships bestowed to us trainee captains,

in order to carry out the will of the unseen.

Within this human frame are also packed

the capacities to feel and to think.

All of us make use of these frameworks;

each of us is strapped tight into the controls.

We fumble and bumble and stumble around,

pulled towards pleasure, adjusted through pain,

at times we lose track of our vehicles,

whose coordination requires practice.

At times we are led astray by

the pitfalls of pride and of shame,

oblivious to the frivolity of the details of the observed

relative to the profound unity

of the underlying Unseen.

We pretend we are somehow masters

of these vehicles we but learn to control,

and suppose ourselves the makers

of these sheaths we hardly understand.

Forgetful explorers of what Is.

The physical tasks must be dealt with

in dense, heavy, spatial form,

yet our fruits lie not in matter,

not in wealth nor fame acquired,

though they may serve as stepping stones

as we realize the nature of desire

and its role in our growth.

The riches become subtler and lighter,

as we shift our focus from feeding our bodies

to feeding our souls.

From refueling the vehicle to enjoying the journey

And learning about What Is

On this field trip we call a life.

We are not the vehicle.

We are not the driver.

We are the schoolchildren.

Decades and centuries and millennia ago,

Human life was essentially the same

as in today's fast internet world.

Our hungers, passions, and fears live still with us,

unchanged constants in our vehicles, despite cultural growth.

And many have yet to learn to steward them consciously,

to be equanimously informed by their true signals,

then choosing with conscious will,

instead of being swept away by their forces,

and resorting to their animal nature, desperate to survive,

which in its desperation, forgets love.

And in lovelessness grow greed and pride,

flourish separativeness, hatred, and blame,

like mold and pests gladly inhabit

a house left sunless and untended.

The homeowner can only tend to it correctly

if he knows, appreciates, and cares for it

with learning, wisdom, and love.

Our legacy, long-trodden,

these vehicles of senses and earth

are not our own triumphs;

they are the products of an ancient craftsmanship

which our minds are but starting to grasp.

They are the instruments that collect experience

given to us so we may grow.

So we may satisfy our thirst

of what it means to be.

Of what it means to choose and feel

a single path within the Ocean,

anchored by the service of

our persistent, ceaseless bodies.

Our aim is not survival,

it is wisdom, grace, and love.

And these, of soul and not of body

cannot be copied, but must be cultivated

into the garden of our being

with the pain and effort of experience

with the tools we craft thereby:

discipline, understanding, discernment,

efficiency, dispassion, clarity, patience.

And with trust, allowed to grow

and to continue the work of the same ancient craftsmanship

to which we ourselves are servants and tools.