The thirst of the soul is the wings of a new born bird,
Peering at the world with wonder,
Neither the sweet music of siblings,
Nor the safe confines of the nest,
Keep her from soaring into the sky,
She falls, balances and learns to glide,
Sees much and says little,
Quietness becomes her way,
Follow her,
Sit with her,
Talk to her,
For the day the bird of consciousness is fully grown,
She’ll tower over you,
And welcome you into her fold,
If the purpose of all life is bliss,
Then the phoenix of bliss will follow you.
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