Breaking Free

I found a grave atop a mountain

Dug beneath a cairn of stone

And on a slate I saw was written

‘This is not my real home’.

‘Do not cling to flesh and tissue

Do not grieve for bones and blood

Do not pine for brain and sinew

The worms will turn them all to mud’.

‘But sing of that enlivening spirit

The light intelligent inside

Creating springs of living quanta

Upon an island in life’s tide’.

‘Until was formed a conscious person

Who fearfully learnt to be humane

Who faltering, danced in three dimensions

And slowly learnt his real name –

Which is the one you might remember

If you have loved what must survive

This chrysalis beneath this cairn-pile –

This butterfly is more alive’.