There is no bridge between the dream and the stone -
for consciousness walks where the wild waters moan.
Nameless reality we've given a name,
but like flame trailing smoke, it's one and the same.

Like the beggar's foot and the road it has trod,
they're never in friction, as even and odd.
As the miles pass by, they are always just one -
the vagrant walking and the life-giving Sun.

No veil hangs between what the eye sees and feels,
no wall 'twixt the thunder and soul that it steals;
the distance between them is lesser than nil
as the Self and the World in silence lie still.