Who am I?

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Deluded by the material objects of this devastating world,

My true identity lies buried in life’s darkened clouds. 

Like the sun: the illumined Self, alas, in shadows shrouded, 

I ask, “What is the meaning of all this?” I question “Who am I?”

Woman silhouette sitting in lotus pose of yoga.

Mighty pillars of the universe support the earth on which I stand; 

A little speck of dust may I be. Hundreds of books read: no answer. 

Bewildered and fatigued I lay down my limbs. I peer into the skies, 

I become calm and still, I hear a nightingale sing her song.

The answer in a flash comes, “Your Spirit is the Lord of all.” 

You are not a speck of dust, throw away your books. Just go inside.

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