The East has taught, when men untie the knots
which bind their minds, they're heirs to the divine.
A consciousness, undone from tangled thoughts,
can fathom both sides of that mystic line
whose plane divides the sacred from mundane.
Sans this, the chance to know 'true life' is slight .
New skills of conscious mind become germane
to sense the blend where dayworn wits unite
with higher realms. Refined and sparkle-smart,
Grace has no place where dead men drag and dream.
Without a self-uplifted waking heart,
no spirit waits to call the soul upstream.
And downstream, waits the ravenous black hole
we call Hell's end, long light years from one's goal.