I wrote this poem a long time ago, and I think of it as a trifle childish, but maybe it will resonate with someone.
I climb the steps to find the bird.
With me climb few people.
Some stop because of the height.
The inch above the ground makes
such a great difference.
Yet there are those who never leave the ground.
Their safety seems so sure.
It is
like a snowflake in June.
What is a wheel if a wheel can not be made?
Is it that which helps or hinders?
But why ask if it is?
But why ask if Am?
Your sight of fire that does not singe a sleeve,
the spirit which is more man than spirit but
more spirit than man;
makes you think of a rock.
But the rock does not exist and you do not exist.
But all exist for all are you.
Then if you still think of the rock
Truly the rock is you.
You may not be the bird, but life has
more death and death has more life if you are
a believer in the rock.
But when death has more life
you will not believe in the rock.