Who writes the words on your page?
Is it you or some wise sage?
Who paints the picture from your palette?
Who chisels the masterpiece with the mallet?

There is only one writer, only one artist,
Many trees, but only one forest.
This is the  point that many don’t see
That there can be one at the same time as three.

A body can seem to sit in a chair
Yet at the same time a bright light is there.
You can call this light a soul
Yet body and soul are part of one whole.

This is the secret that eludes one who thinks
Yet reveals itself when that one simply sinks
Into the knowing that rests in the heart
That you and the Light are one, not apart.