Not without the help of others,
each of us builds a fortress,
like building walls
around a desert mirage,
or a mist rising,
evaporating in sunlight.

And the world teaches us
we must guard these walls
that surround our
misty treasure.

Some great souled men
have claimed
that the walls
are not really there.

Some even lived
as though this were true.
Usually they were killed
for daring to do so.

They say
if we sit still
and silent long enough
to tame this wild ox
of a mind that yanks us
from one thing
to another,

we will see this truth.

I long to see it.
Sometimes I think I glimpse it
for a moment,
but then it vanishes,
just like that mirage,
just like that mist I defend,
with my sword drawn,
standing at the gate.