Sometimes simplicity rises
like a blossom of fire
from the smooth silk of your own skin.

You were there in the beginning
you heard the story, you heard the merciless
and tender words telling you where you had to go.

Exile is never easy and the journey
itself leaves a bitter taste. But then,
when you heard that voice, you had to go.

You couldn't stay by the fire, you couldn't live
so close to the live flame of that compassion
you had to go out in the world and make it your own

so you could come back with
that flame in your voice, saying listen...
this warmth, this unbearable light, this fearful love...

It is all here, it is all here.

-David Whyte