Endless tears can damp the flame, but
what tumbles the soul ablaze? Again
I gather stones that broke me,
build a path towards that Light.
Yet what is my mortal truth,
the very fruit of fire?
Kingfisher will flash – not ring;
bell speaks its own name, not wings.
Know yourself, in grace of truth :
apple’s not cherry, melon’s not plum –
each one buds and blossoms to yield
their fruits in season – not in spring.
Live out that being that within you dwells –
not that which is another’s. Life
grows from truth, and fans the flame,
cries What I do is me, for that I came.
— Christine Rigden
