Discern all things in seeming motion
from the mover that casts the spell.
Thus one apprehends the notion
of a mortem free from from hell;
though self-created hells our sojourns,
while upon on this earth we dwell.

Know "I" beyond pain and passion,
the balm in Gilead that soothes
thy frail division with detachment
as the mover knows the moved,
never leaving Self to fraction,
needle never skip the groove.

There is naught that is not That;
motion is by Mind alone
the maker that our dreams begat,
turning boundless Light to stone
and crystallized in maze and map --
that veils how brightly it once shone.

Unto the Light we shall awake
by seeking out the way between
all words: the shackles that unmake
thy Self by stretch betwixt extremes.
Transcend all boundaries that break
and reify the dream.