I

As the sleeping ghost
Of my own mind,
As the hungry ghost
Of my own heart
Can I see the world
That is hard to find,
That exists in breath
And my body’s art?
Can I catch the wind
Of my own dreams,
Can I ride the wave
Of my own lives,
Not get scared when
All my being screams,
Not get hopeful when
All my being thrives?
As the pure land
Of my own mind,
As the pure view
Of my own eye
Can I ever look
Without being blind,
Can I look inside
And let go of “I”?