Leave the Samadhi.
Sit on a bench and listen
As the music begins.
Sit with knees poking into the aisle.
No matter how the body bends
Know that this is still the world
That none of us fit utterly well,
Always awkward poking out into life,
Prodded down or up whatever path
We have with eyes mostly shut tight
But here we all somehow are
In this life in this place with You
Beloved, playing and singing.
How fortunate to poke so gangly
The sharp edges of the world
And know You not only were.