Will I be born again? Have I been here before?
These are questions I could ask, or I could care not.
My keen eyes don’t have vision. It’s me who’s inside,
Just as windows can see things. It’s they who reside
Squarely on one side of them. Is this what is taught?
How I wish this were so. Then we’d suffer no more.
I know I’m not my body. It is loaned to me
By the Mother of all matter born of this place.
When the loan time expires, I will pay it back.
She’s the best at collection. She keeps perfect track
Of all molecules managed in her time and space.
I exist to incur the loan most frequently.
This is only a story to those who have not
Had the kinds of experience to offer claim.
Don’t believe in the story if it makes no sense.
But don’t disbelieve either for your own defense.
To consider what’s said to you is not a shame.
Wise is one who observes and is open in thought.